The plan of the cruise was talked over in all its details, and the whole party seemed pleased with the idea. Young Van Horne, now a practising physician in New York, was delighted with the prospect of a week's liberty; Mr. Smith, the conchologist, hoped to pick up some precious univalve or bivalve; Charlie talked of taking a sketch of Cape Cod; Harry declared he was determined to enjoy the trip, as the last holiday he could allow himself for a long time; and Mr. Stryker promised himself the best of chowders, a sea-dish in which he professed himself to be a great connoisseur. Mrs. Creighton indeed declared, that he looked upon that season as lost, in which he could not make some improvement in his celebrated receipt for chowder. Whether it was that this lady's gaiety and coquetry instinctively revived in the company of so many gentlemen, or whether she felt afraid of Mr. Stryker's keen, worldly scrutiny, her manner in the evening resumed entirely its wonted appearance; she was witty, graceful, piquant, and flattering as ever, and quite as much so with Hazlehurst as with any. "What do you say to a game of chess, Mrs. Creighton?" asked Mr. Wyllys. "With pleasure, sir; I am always at your service. Not that it is very pleasant to be beaten so often, but I really think I improve under your instructions. You are so much interested yourself that you inspire others." "You must allow me, Mrs. Creighton, to suggest something for your improvement," said Mr. Stryker. "And what is it, pray?" "You talk too much; you make yourself too agreeable to your adversary--that is not fair." "Oh, it is only a ruse de guerre; and Mr. Wyllys beats me nine games out of ten, in spite of my chattering." {"ruse de guerre" = military strategem (French)} "No doubt; but if you could make up your mind to be less charming for half an hour, you might have the honours of the game oftener." "I must gain the battle my own way, Mr. Stryker, or not at all." "I leave you to your fate, then," said the gentleman, turning away. Charlie, Elinor, Harry, and Jane were quietly talking together; Jane having now resumed her place in the family circle. They were speaking of Charlie's sketches, and the young widow asked if he ever painted portraits now; Miss Wyllys {sic} wished to have her's taken, before she left them to return to her parents. {"Miss Wyllys" = should read Jane (or Mrs. Taylor); Elinor Wyllys is an orphan} "You do paint portraits," said Elinor; "I have seen those of your mother and Miss Patsey." Charlie changed colour, and hastily denied any claim to be called a portrait-painter. "Yet it would be pleasant," said Elinor, "to have a picture of my cousin painted by you." Jane observed she should like to have Elinor's, by the same hand. "Oh, my portrait would not be worth having," said Elinor, smiling; "certainly not if taken by an honest artist."