Meanwhile the Mayhews and Reginald had turned and come back towards them, and were much edified to find Alice leaning over the side, apparently studying the sea, and a young sailor seemingly whispering soft nothings into her ear. _This_ was a phase of her character that burst upon them for the first time. She remained quite motionless till they had passed, then dried her eyes and followed them below. They went down to the main deck and saw Reginald’s cabin, which he shared with another officer. Some loving hands had done up the stranger’s side with many a little comfort--a thick quilted crimson counterpane, pockets for boots, and combs, and brushes against the wall, and the netting over his berth crammed with new novels. All these caught Alice’s eye, and she felt a sharp twinge as she turned and saw her husband’s share of the cabin bare of everything save such luxuries as the ship provided. “You are all going to stay and dine with me,” he said, “at the ghastly hour of half-past four, but it will take the place of five-o’clock tea for once. And if you like to make a toilette,” addressing himself to Helen, “here are brushes and combs at your service, and I’ll take care that the other fellow does not intrude.” “But won’t it seem very odd if we stay?” asked Helen, dying to do so. “Not at all. About twenty ladies are dining besides yourselves; so look sharp, the first bugle has gone.” He treated Alice as an utter stranger; and Alice, now that he was really and truly going, began to realise what she was losing. Regret, remorse, and love were getting the better of pride, obstinacy, and suspicion. Miss Fane’s influence was gradually wearing away in Helen Mayhew’s society. She choked back the blinding tears that would come into her eyes, and bit her quivering lips, so that Helen might not see her tardy sorrow. Helen was calmly titivating herself at the glass, and did not observe her companion’s emotion. “Come, Alice, be quick!” she exclaimed at last. “Take off your jacket, child; your serge will do very nicely. Here, wash your face and brush your hair; you look quite wild and dishevelled.” Alice mechanically rose to obey her. “What a dandy Reginald is,” she proceeded. “I had no idea he was such a fine gentleman: ivory-backed brushes with monograms, and all his toilet accessories to correspond--boot-hook, button-hook, shoe-horn, all complete. Let’s see what his dressing-case is like inside.” “Oh don’t,” cried Alice piteously; “he hates to have his things rummaged, I know he does.” “What nonsense, my dear girl,” opening the case. “Here, have some white rose--hold out your handkerchief.” “No, thank you, I would rather not.”