Some time after this meeting I saw Boyd Madras issue from the companion-way dressed as a Greek. He wore a false beard, and carried off well his garments of white and scarlet and gold--a very striking and presentable man. He came slowly forward, looking about him steadily, and, seeing me, moved towards me. But for his manner I should scarcely have recognised him. A dance was beginning; but many eyes were turned curiously, and even admiringly, to him; for he looked singular and impressive and his face was given fulness by a beard and flesh paints. I motioned him aside where there was shadow, and said: “Well, you have determined to see her?” “Yes,” he said; “and I wish you, if you will, to introduce me to her as Mr. Charles Boyd. “You still think this wise?” I asked. “It is my earnest wish. I must have an understanding to-night.” He spoke very firmly, and showed no excitement. His manner was calm and gentlemanly. He had a surprising air of decision. Supporting an antique character, he seemed for the moment to have put on also something of antique strength of mind, and to be no longer the timid invalid. “Then, come with me,” I answered. We walked in silence for a few minutes, and then, seeing where Mrs. Falchion was, we advanced to her. The next dance on her programme was mine. In my previous dance with her we had talked as we now did at table--as we did the first hour I met her--impersonally, sometimes (I am bold to say) amusingly. Now I approached her with apologies for being late. The man beside her took his leave. She had only just glanced at me at first, but now she looked at my companion, and the look stayed, curious, bewildered. “It is fitting,” I said, “that Greek meet Greek--that Menelaus should be introduced to Helen. May I say that when Helen is not Helen she is Mrs. Falchion, and when Menelaus is not Menelaus he is--Mr. Charles Boyd.” I am afraid my voice faltered slightly, because there came over me suddenly a nervousness as unexpected as it was inconvenient, and my words, which began lightly, ended huskily. Had Madras miscalculated this woman? Her eyes were afire, and her face was as pale as marble; all its slight but healthy glow had fled. A very faint gasp came from her lips. I saw that she recognised him, as he bowed and mentioned her name, following my introduction. I knew not what might occur, for I saw danger in her eyes in reply to the beseeching look in his. Would melodrama supervene after all? She merely bowed towards me, as if to dismiss me, and then she rose, took his arm, and moved away. The interview that follows came to me from Boyd Madras afterwards. When they had reached the semi-darkness of the forward part of the ship, she drew her hand quickly away, and, turning to him, said: “What is the name by which you are called? One does not always hear distinctly when being introduced.”