“I must have thought of it in a moment of inspiration,” said Daireen. “Come, you really mustn't laugh,” said the elder lady reprovingly. “It was a happy thought, at any rate, and I only hope that you will be able to sustain its effect by something good at dinner. I must look over your trunks and tell you what tone is most artistic.” Daireen began to feel rebellious. “My dear Mrs. Crawford, it is very kind of you to offer to take so much trouble; but, you see, I do not feel it to be a necessity to choose the shade of my dress solely to please the taste of a gentleman who may not be absolutely perfect in his ideas.” Mrs. Crawford laughed. “Do not get angry, my dear,” she said. “I admire your spirit, and I will not attempt to control your own good taste; you will never, I am sure, sink to such a depth of depravity as is manifested by that hat.” “Well, I think you may depend on me so far,” said Daireen. Shortly afterwards Mrs. Crawford descended to arrange some matters in her cabin, and Daireen had consequently an opportunity of returning to her neglected author. But before she had made much progress in her study she was again interrupted, and this time by Doctor Campion, who had been smoking with Mr. Harwood on the ship's bridge. Doctor Campion was a small man, with a reddish face upon which a perpetual frown was resting. He had a jerky way of turning his head as if it was set upon a ratchet wheel only capable of shifting a tooth at a time. He had been in the army for a good many years, and had only accepted the post aboard the _Cardwell Castle_ for the sake of his health. “Young cub!” he muttered, as he came up to Daireen. “Infernal young cub!--I beg your pardon, Miss Gerald, but I really must say it. That fellow Glaston is getting out of all bounds. Ah, it's his father's fault--his father's fault. Keeps him dawdling about England without any employment. Why, it would have been better for him to have taken to the Church, as they call it, at once, idle though the business is.” “Surely you have not been wearing an inartistic tie, Doctor Campion?” “Inartistic indeed! The puppy has got so much cant on his finger-ends that weak-minded people think him a genius. Don't you believe it, my dear; he's a dam puppy--excuse me, but there's really no drawing it mild here.” Daireen was amused at the doctor's vehemence, however shocked she may have been at his manner of getting rid of it. “What on earth has happened with Mr. Glaston now?” she asked. “It is impossible that there could be another obnoxious dress aboard.”