"The gig is on the way to you now, Miss." "That's an awfully sweet hat she's wearing," said Mrs. Marne. "I wonder where she found that shape." Miss Carstairs nodded her thanks to the sailing-master. The bare-headed young man sprang down, assisted her to descend, waited with her at the water's edge, assisted her most thoroughly into the _Cypriani's_ gig. He was a handsome boy. He stood on the shore looking after the departing boat, laughing and calling out something. "We wanted to have luncheon on deck," said Varney, abruptly, to Mrs. Marne, "as the day is so uncommonly fine. But about noon there came up a little cloud no larger than a man's hand--it took a telescope to see it--and the steward, a pronounced conservative, begged us not to trifle with our luck. It seems too bad to go indoors on such a glorious day." "But if we were to stay outdoors," she laughed, "would it have been such a glorious day? These are the questions that make cynics of us all. I am unhappy, Mr. Varney, because I have to fly the moment luncheon is over. The Married Women's Culture Club meets at four o'clock. Only fancy!--I am to read a paper on Immanuel Kant." Peter, who had known no women in his life and was oppressed with the thought that Hare's sister was his personal responsibility for the day, was strolling moodily about the deck, hands thrust deep in his trousers pocket. Hare hung at the rail, his neat glasses turned upstream. The gig came alongside and Miss Carstairs mounted the steps, the party gathered at the head of them to meet her. Peter, as it chanced, greeted her first. He had been introduced to her, in passing, the night of the meeting, but now he was dimly conscious that he had rather underestimated her appearance. "I am dreadfully sorry to be late," she said. "We went for the shortest little drive, and all at once it was two o'clock and we were three miles away." "You must have done something to the speed-limit, madam," said Peter in his stiffest manner, "for you are in ample time." "How do you do, Mr. Hare?" "Excellently well, thank you, Mary. It is supererogatory to ask you." "Pinky," said Mrs. Marne, "have that word and I met? I don't seem to recognize it." "Good-morning, Mr. Varney." Mary offered him her hand; but, greeting her, he had turned to pull a chair out of her way, and so missed seeing it. "It is a great pleasure to welcome you aboard the yacht, Miss Carstairs." "If I seem at all addicted to melancholia to-day," said Mary, "you won't be surprised, will you? My mother isn't well--really! When I left her an hour ago, you might have supposed that we were parting for a year. And then, besides I had an omen--a mysterious warning...." Varney's gaze became fixed. "A warning?" She laughed. "A rather queer and scary one! I'll tell you presently." "My dear," said Mrs. Marne, when Varney had turned to explain the working of the boat-falls to Hare, "_who_ is he? He is simply cunning!"