A white-clad steward noiselessly approached with her parasol. She took it and smiled at Varney's idle pleasantry. "Thank you, I have too many responsibilities this afternoon. First of all, we--have a guest at home. Then I simply must go to Mrs. Thurston's to see about some sewing at five. Last obstacle of all--my mamma! What would she think had happened?" "Don't you suppose that she would guess?" "Do you think I'm the daughter of a clairvoyant, Mr. Varney? No, she would not guess. She would simply stand at the front window in a Sister Ann position all the afternoon, crying her pretty, eyes red. But--this is a schooner-something steam-yacht, ninety feet long, I believe you said. What comes after that?" They had left the town dock behind and were scudding swiftly. There was no longer any reason, even any pretext, for waiting. Every pulse of the _Cypriani's_ machinery was beating into his brain: "Tell her now! Tell her now!" But all at once he found it very hard to speak. "There is time enough for that. There is something that I must tell you first--in fairness to Hare. The fact is that I--I made Peter take him away because I wanted to be alone with you." The crude speech plainly embarrassed her; she became suddenly engrossed in examining the carved handle of her parasol, as though never in her life had she seen it before. Varney turned abruptly from her and looked out at the flying shore. "Last night," said he, "you may remember that you asked me a question. You asked me why I objected to accepting help from you." "Yes, but that was last night," she interrupted, her instinct instantly warning her away from the topic--"and you didn't tell me, you know! Really--we must turn around in two minutes, and so I haven't time to talk about a thing but yachts." "I fear that you must find time." "Must, Mr. Varney?" "Must. This is a matter in which you are directly concerned." She faced him in frank wonderment. "Why, what on earth can you mean?" "Now you must! Now you must!" sang the _Cypriani's_ staunch little engines. But he made the mistake of looking at her, and this move betrayed him. There was no doubt of him in her upturned, perplexed face, no shadow of distrust to give him strength. His earlier dread of this moment, strangely faded for a while, closed in on him once more with deadly force. "Don't you see that I am trying to tell you and that I am finding it--hard?" he said quietly. There was a moment's silence; then she said hurriedly: "Of course I am all in the dark as to what you--are talking about--but tell me another time, won't you? Not now, please. And oh--meantime," she sped on, with the air of hailing a new topic with acclaim, "I have something to tell you, Mr. Varney!--mystery seems to be in the air to-day. You _must_ hear the strange thing that happened to me this morning. I haven't had a chance to tell you before." "Ah, yes! That mysterious warning."