It was obviously impossible that such a man could put himself on that mental level which would be implied by his action should he consent to make any answer to a person like Mr. Harwood. But apart from these general grounds, Mr. Glaston had got concrete reasons for declining to discuss any subject with this newspaper man. He knew that it was Mr. Harwood who had called the tone-poems of the college magazine alliterative conundrums for young ladies; that it was Mr. Harwood who had termed one of the colour-harmonies a study in virulent jaundice; that it was Mr. Harwood who had, after smiling on being told of the _aquarellen_ impromptus, expressed a desire to hear one of these compositions--all this Mr. Glaston knew well, and so when Mr. Harwood made that remark about taste Mr. Glaston did not reply. Daireen, however, did not feel the silence oppressive. She kept her eyes fixed upon that thin thread of moon that was now almost touching the dark ridge of the island. Harwood looked at her for a few moments, and then he too leaned over the side of the ship and gazed at that lovely moon and its burning star. “How curious,” he said gently--“how very curious, is it not, that the sight of that hill and that moon should bring back to me memories of Lough Suangorm and Slieve Docas?” The girl gave a start. “You are thinking of them too? I am so glad. It makes me so happy to know that I am not the only one here who knows all about Suangorm.” Suddenly another thought seemed to come to her. She turned her eyes away from the island and glanced down the deck anxiously. “No,” said Mr. Harwood very gently indeed; “you are not alone in your memories of the loveliest spot of the world.” Mrs. Crawford thought it well to interpose. “My dear Daireen, you must be careful not to take a chill now after all the unusual exercise you have had during the day. Don't you think you had better go below?” “Yes, I had much better,” said the girl quickly and in a startled tone; and she had actually gone to the door of the companion before she recollected that she had not said good-night either to Glaston or Harwood. She turned back and redeemed her negligence, and then went down with her good guardian. “Poor child,” thought Mr. Glaston, “she fears that I am hurt by her disregard of my advice about going ashore with those people. Poor child! perhaps I was hard upon her!” “Poor little thing,” thought Mr. Harwood. “She begins to understand.” “It would never do to let that sort or thing go on,” thought Mrs. Crawford, as she saw that Daireen got a cup of tea before retiring. Mrs. Crawford fully appreciated Mr. Harwood's cleverness in reading the girl's thought and so quickly adapting his speech to the requirements of the moment; but she felt her own superiority of cleverness.