She liked and admired Vernon Blythe, but he had no money beyond his pay, and nothing but his good looks and gentlemanly manners to recommend him for a husband. Alice, on the other hand, was in a very unhappy frame of mind. She wished her mother would broach the subject, and ask for her confidence, or that Jack would grow jealous of her flirtation with Lovell, and so bring about an explanation, but neither of them made any sign. She felt guiltily happy in the presence of the fascinating captain, and basely false and fickle with regard to Jack; and if he held her to her engagement, she felt that she must marry him, and so she was miserable all round. For she knew now that she had never really loved Vernon Blythe. It was a folly--an infatuation. He was so handsome, so graceful,--so courteous in his manners towards her, and all the sex. But he had never looked at her as Captain Lovell looked. She had never heard his voice tremble while he addressed her, nor lowered to such a whisper that no one but herself could understand what he said. Jack was the first man who had ever made her heart beat a little quicker. He had always been lively and _debonnair_ with her, and paid her compliments and brought her such trifles as his slender purse could afford, and she had mistaken her girlish pleasure over a sentimental friendship as an indication of the master passion. But poor Alice knew the difference now, and the knowledge made her miserable, as it does most of us. The _Pandora_, with the aid of the trades, was still forging ahead, but day by day as she approached the Antarctic latitudes, it was growing colder, and the Southern Cross was plainly visible at night. Yet the hours passed but slowly, and had it not been for the anticipated private theatricals, the passengers would have had but little to talk about. They were all assembled one morning on the poop. Alice and Captain Lovell were standing close together, talking to Miss Vere about their proposed amusement, and the conversation naturally led on to the subject of her profession. ‘By Jove! deucedly jolly, Miss Vere, you know, to be on the stage; isn’t it now, eh?’ lisped Harold Greenwood, who was once more in the full glory of pink ties and white waistcoats, and had his glass well screwed into his eye. ‘Have you tried it, Mr Greenwood?’ ‘Well, not exactly, you know. But I might have, if I had chosen. I was offered a large salary once--a _tremendous_ salary, I was told it was--to appear as “Romeo.” The manager said I was just the face and figure for “Romeo,” you know. “Oh that I wath a glove upon that cheek,” and all that sort of thing, eh? I’d like doosidly to play “Romeo” to your “Juliet,” Miss Vere, do you know? You _have_ played “Juliet,” haven’t you, eh?’ ‘Sometimes,’ replied the actress quietly.