“Perfect, my child,” she said in a whisper--“the tone of the dress, I mean; it will work wonders.” While Daireen was reflecting upon the possibility of a suspension of the laws of nature being the result of the appearance of the chocolate-toned dress, she was led towards the doctor, who immediately went through a fiction of rising from his seat as she approached; and one would really have fancied that he intended getting upon his feet, and was only restrained at the last moment by a remonstrance of the girl's. Daireen acknowledged his courtesy, though it was only imaginary, and she was conscious that his companion had really risen. “You haven't made the acquaintance of Miss Gerald, Mr. Harwood?” said Mrs. Crawford. “I have not had the honour,” said the man. “Let me present you, Daireen. Mr. Harwood--Miss Gerald. Now take great care what you say to this gentleman, Daireen; he is a dangerous man--the most dangerous that any one could meet. He is a detective, dear, and the worst of all--a literary detective; the 'special' of the _Domnant Trumpeter_.” Daireen had looked into the man's face while she was being presented to him, and she knew it was the face of a man who had seen the people of more than one nation. “This is not your first voyage, Miss Gerald, or you would not be on deck so early?” he said. “It certainly is not,” she replied. “I was born in India, so that my first voyage was to England; then I have crossed the Irish Channel frequently, going to school and returning for the holidays; and I have also had some long voyages on Lough Suangorm,” she added with a little smile, for she did not think that her companion would be likely to have heard of the existence of the Irish fjord. “Suangorm? then you have had some of the most picturesque voyages one can make in the course of a day in this world,” he said. “Lough Suangorm is the most wonderful fjord in the world, let me tell you.” “Then you know it,” she cried with a good deal of surprise. “You must know the dear old lough or you would not talk so.” She did not seem to think that his assertion should imply that he had seen a good many other fjords also. “I think I may say I know it. Yes, from those fine headlands that the Atlantic beats against, to where the purple slope of that great hill meets the little road.” “You know the hill--old Slieve Docas? How strange! I live just at the foot.” “I have a sketch of a mansion, taken just there,” he said, laughing. “It is of a dark brown exterior.” “Exactly.” “It looks towards the sea.” “It does indeed.” “It is exceedingly picturesque.” “Picturesque?” “Well, yes; the house I allude to is very much so. If I recollect aright, the one window of the wall was not glazed, and the smoke certainly found its way out through a hole in the roof.” “Oh, that is too bad,” said Daireen. “I had no idea that the peculiarities of my country people would be known so far away. Please don't say anything about that sketch to the passengers aboard.”