The young and good-looking of either sex were flirting. The more wily and experienced coquetting after a graver fashion; while the middle-aged were gossiping to some congenial spirit on the supposed merits or demerits of their neighbours. Not a few prostrate forms might be seen reclining upon shawls and cloaks, supported by pillows, whose languid, pale faces, and disarranged tresses, showed that the demon of the waters had been at work, and remorselessly had stricken them down. Standing near the seat occupied by the Lyndsays, Flora observed a tall, fashionably-dressed woman, apparently about twenty-eight or thirty years of age. She was laughing and chatting in the most lively and familiar manner with a handsome, middle-aged man, in a military undress. The person of the lady was very agreeable, and though neither pretty nor elegant, was fascinating and attractive. As her male companion constantly addressed her as Mrs. Dalton, we will call her by her name. When Mrs. Lyndsay first took her seat upon the deck Mrs. Dalton left off her conversation with Major F——, and regarded the new arrival with a long, cool, deliberate stare, which would have won a smile from Flora, had it not been evidently meant to insult and annoy; for, turning to the Major, with a glance of peculiar meaning, accompanied with the least possible elevation of her shoulders, she let slip the word—“_Nobody_!” “I am sure that _he_ is a gentleman, and, if I mistake not, an officer, and a fine intelligent looking man,” remarked her companion, in an aside; “and I like the appearance of his wife.” “My dear Sir, I tell you that _she is nobody_. Look at that merino gown; what lady would venture on board these fine vessels, where they meet with so many _fashionable_ people, in such a dress?” “A very suitable dress, I should say, for a sea voyage.” “Pshaw!” muttered Mrs. Dalton, “have done with your prudent Scotch sense of propriety. Who minds spoiling a good dress or two, when their standing in society is risked by appearing shabby? I tell you, Major, that she is _nobody_.” “Had you not told me that you had passed the greater part of your life, Mrs. Dalton, in a British Colony, I could have sworn to the fact, from your last speech,” said her companion: “you all think so much of dress, that with you it is really the coat which makes the man, and, I suppose, the gown which makes the lady. However, you shall have it your own way. You know how easy it is for you to bring me over to your opinion.” “Do you think that a pretty woman?” she said, directing her husband’s eyes towards the lady in question. “Rather,” he replied coldly, “but very worldly and sophisticated.” “I am glad to hear you say so,” said Flora, like a true woman; “that is precisely the opinion I have formed of her. Is that officer her husband?”