Mrs. Leach gazed at her in amazement. What she knew _did_ matter very much. It was all very fine for Madeline to close her eyes, and waive away a subject. She would discover that she, Flora Leach, had her in her power--she held her in the hollow of her hand. Luck--she called it--had dealt her an ace of trumps! People were settling into their places as Mrs. Leach entered, and there was the usual confusion in the saloon--incidental to starting. Mr. West had secured a capital seat, and he and Mrs. Leach dined happily together--and were generally taken for man and wife. The dinner and wine was good, the motion almost _nil_, a mere slight shaking, and the widow enjoyed herself vastly. Madeline was rather tired, she said; Josephine was looking after her. A little soup was all she would take. Should she tell him _now_? No, the situation was too public, he would probably shout and make a scene. She would wait for a day or two, until they had their two deck chairs comfortably drawn up side by side, under the lee of a cabin, and when the dusk had come and the stars were out, she would whisper into his ear his daughter’s secret. When Mrs. Leach retired to her cabin that night, Madeline was asleep. How pale and wan her face, how thin her hands, she might be dead--she wished she were. Then she took her bag out of the bottom berth--she occupied a top one by preference--and searching in its pockets, got out a letter-case, extracted a letter, and sat down to read it. It was pleasant reading, to judge by her expression, and she went over it no less than twice. The motion of the steamer was not so agreeable; in fact, it was becoming more remarkable every moment. The things on hooks were getting lively and beginning to swing. She crushed the note hastily into its envelope, thrust it into her bag and began to undress as quickly as possible. The next morning they were off Dover and the _Victoria_ was rolling considerably. Mrs. Leach was wretchedly squeamish. She attempted to rise, she dressed with less than her usual elaboration, and staggered out into the saloon. Alas! she was too bold; the smell of fried fish was her undoing, and routed her with great slaughter. She lay in her berth all day, and all the next day. Also Madeline; but she was not a prey to Neptune--only so tired--so tired of life, and everything. Late in the afternoon, a bustling, talkative stewardess came in and, willy-nilly, got her up, helped her to dress, put a long cloak about her, and assisted her upon deck about dusk. “The air will do you good, miss. You are no more sea-sick than I am. If you stop in that stuffy cabin, you’ll be real bad, and the gentleman said as I was to fetch you, if you could stand. There’s a nice long chair, and cushions and rug, all waiting for you in a sheltered place.”