It was in a fearful tangle, after five hours at sea, and many more in the berth in the cabin; but Vera was able to sit up in a dainty dressing-gown, and submit to treatment not quite that of a hairdresser, but made as lively as could be by little jokes and kindly apologies at any extra hard pull at the knots, which really seemed “as if a witch had twined them;” and the two began to feel well acquainted with each other over the operation, though Vera was somewhat impressed when she observed that the brush was ivory handled. Her bicycling skirt was in tolerable condition, but her once delicate blue blouse was past renovation, so she was invested with a borrowed white one, and led in triumph to the saloon, just as the beautiful “Francie” came to call “Phyllis,” and give a helping hand. There were two gentlemen besides Hubert Delrio, and there was a general rejoicing welcome; but Vera did not think Hubert made half enough inquiries or apologies, before she was seated at the table, where everything was secured, and the fare was not very sumptuous or various, being chiefly some concoction of rice and scraps of salt beef, which Francie said was a shame, eating up the poor sailors’ fare; also there was potted meat, and cheese, but all the fresh bread was gone, and they praised Mrs. Griggs’ construction of ham and rice with all the warmth and drollery each could contribute. Vera began to be puzzled as to who every one was, for no names except Phyl, Fly, Francie and Ivy were heard, and the merry grey-haired head of the family was “Father” or “Papa” to every one, except of course Mr. Delrio, who, however, seemed at his ease, and took a fair share in the talk, and once or twice Vera thought he said, “my lord,” but she did not believe it. “I find you are a friend of a special pet of mine, Mysie Merrifield,” said the father. “I know her a little,” stammered Vera, “but Primrose best.” “Nearer your age, eh? But Mysie is our gem! It looks fit for going on deck.” After the apology for a dinner, the young married pair went their way, he to endeavour to add a fish to their provisions, she to look on; the father and Delrio went where the latter could best study the wonderful tints of sunset over the purple retreating clouds, and the still agitated foaming sea,—sights that seemed to be filling him with enchantment, and revealing effects in colour, while his delight was evidently a new pleasure to his companion. Vera was afraid to move, and sat on a deck chair, with her back to the sunset, while Phyllis, who perhaps would have liked to share in the admiration, sat by her, so that Vera began to accept her as a special friend, and to pour out the explanation of how she came to be tossing in an open boat with this one companion. “You see, poor fellow,” she said, simpering, “he has been always so devoted to me. Everybody observed it, and I could not help just gratifying him a little.”