Miss Guinevere's voice was very small, and her accompaniment very loud, but, in her effort to please, she unconsciously became dramatic in her expression, and frowned and smiled and lifted her brows in sympathy with the emotions of the damsel in the song. And Miss Guinevere's eyes being expressive and her lips very red, the result proved most satisfactory to the audience. One stout young man in particular expressed himself in such unrestrained terms of enthusiasm, that Guinevere, after singing several songs, became visibly embarrassed. Upon the plea of being too warm she made her escape, half-promising to return and sing again later on. Flushed with the compliments and the excitement, and a little uncertain about the propriety of it all, she hurried through the swing-door and, turning suddenly on the deck, stumbled over something in the darkness. It proved to be a pair of long legs that were stretched out in front of a silent figure, who shot a hand out to restore Miss Gusty to an upright position. But the deck was slippery from the rain, and before he could catch her, she went down on her knees. "Did it hurt you?" a voice asked anxiously. "It don't matter about me," answered Guinevere, "just so it didn't spoil my new dress. I'm afraid there's an awful tear in it." "I hope not," said the voice. "I'd hate to be guilty of dress slaughter even in the second degree. Sure you are not hurt? Sit down a minute; here's a chair right behind you, out of the wind." Guinevere groped about for the chair. "Mother can mend it," she went on, voicing her anxiety, "if it isn't too bad." "And if it is?" asked the voice. "I'll have to wear it, anyhow. It's brand splinter new, the first one I ever had made by a sure-enough dressmaker." "My abominable legs!" muttered the voice. Guinevere laughed, and all at once became curious concerning the person who belonged to the legs. He had dropped back into his former position, with feet outstretched, hands in pockets, and cap pulled over his eyes, and he did not seem inclined to continue the conversation. She drew in deep breaths of the cool air, and watched the big side-wheel churn the black water into foam, and throw off sprays of white into the darkness. She liked to be out there in the sheltered corner, watching the rain dash past, and to hear the wind whistling up the river. She was glad to be in the dark, too, away from all those gentlemen, so ready with their compliments. But the sudden change from the heated saloon to the cold deck chilled her, and she sneezed. Her companion stirred. "If you are going to stay out here, you ought to put something around you," he said irritably. "I'm not very cold. Besides, I don't want to go in. I don't want them to make me sing any more. Mother'll be awfully provoked if I take cold, though. Do you think it's too damp?" "There's my overcoat," said the man, indifferently; "you can put that around you if you want to."