One of them was not merely rouged, she was _raddled_; and over her head fully forty summers had flown. Nevertheless, her sight was still eagle-keen, and on the strap of a dressing-case she deciphered a card and the name “Fairfax.” Electrical effect! Yes, “Fairfax” as plain as a pikestaff. Was this girl the young bride, the beauty, that there had been so much talk about? She must be. And the youth. Was he her husband? That boy! Preposterous! If not her husband, _who_ was he, and where was Sir Reginald Fairfax? You may rest assured that she did not keep her discovery or her surmises to herself; and no sooner had Alice and Geoffrey left the train than she took her companions into her confidence, and pointed out with emphasis the open carriage and imposing-looking pair of bays that were visible above the palings outside the station, and into which Lady Fairfax and her companion had just stepped and driven off. Why did the bride come thus, alone? Where was her husband? Who was her escort? The rosy-cheeked lady lived within an easy distance of Manister, and she set the ball of rumour and conjecture rolling along so gaily and so speedily, that all the matrons within miles of Monkswood soon regarded Alice with feelings bordering on ferocity. In the first place, she had carried off the best _parti_ in the county. This was bad enough; but to be separated from him within three months of their marriage, and to arrive on their hands as a very bad little black sheep, was surely beyond endurance. She had _nothing_ to expect from their charity or generosity. CHAPTER XI. “EASTWARD HO!” The _Alligator_ put in at Malta for twenty-four hours, and all the passengers landed and “did” the sights. Reginald, in company with some fellow-sightseers, visited the cathedral, the fried monks, and other noteworthy objects, and, sentimental as it sounds, he strolled past the house where he had first met Alice. “Who would have thought,” he said to himself, “that that simple, unsophisticated girl would have turned out so hard and unyielding? She had given him a bitter lesson; he had done with her and all womankind, that was certain;” but before he reached Port Saïd his heart was considerably softened. The handsome young second lieutenant and he were constantly thrown together, and had become capital friends. They were partners at whist, and frequently played in the same game at deck-quoits. One evening they were standing in the stern, watching a large steamer passing in the distance, homeward bound, when the lieutenant abruptly broached the delicate subject of matrimony. “No one would think,” he said, critically surveying his companion, “that _you_ were a married man.” “Then you are not as clever as a friend of mine, who declares that he recognises a Benedict at once by the cut of his boots, and could swear to his umbrella,” said Sir Reginald.