Her arms full of flowers, she stood close to him; and the fragrance of the roses and carnations came to him in little gushes with her panting breath. Her rosy face, in the uncertain light, had taken to itself an ethereal charm very different from its usual clear and positive outline. Hardly had this realisation of her personality come to him than, under the hands of the ship’s servant she had so contemptuously indicated, the flood of the electric light leaped upon them. And behold, she appeared to him yet fairer—youth triumphant, defying even that cruel glare to find a blemish in bloom or contour. "What do you want?" he asked, with the softening of his hard face which so few were ever privileged to see. "A vase for our flowers—a big bowl. I hate messy little dabs; and I don’t want them to die an hour before they can help it. Oh, a really big bowl, at once!" Her residence in an Indian governor’s palace had been short, but sufficient to give Miss Aspasia the habit of command. Raymond Bethune gave his dry chuckle as he set to work to fulfil her behest. "I’ve captured a salad bowl," cried he, almost jovially, when he returned; "and the head steward is in despair!" "Tell him to steal the cook’s pudding-basins," said Aspasia, and swept him back with her to the minute sitting-room. Here sat Lady Gerardine, still wrapped in her cloak but bareheaded, under the shaded light. Leaning back among her cushions, her feet crossed on a footstool, she seemed to have taken full possession of her quarters. The narrow commonplace surroundings had already received her special personal imprint. The flowers, the cushions, a few books, a great cut-glass scent bottle—the very disorder even of a litter of rich trifles that had not yet found their place, removed the trivial impression of steamer upholstery. She received him without surprise, if without any mark of welcome; and Aspasia chattered, ordered, laughed, kept him employed and amused. Now and again Lady Gerardine smiled vaguely at her niece’s outbursts. Bethune could not feel himself an intruder. And certainly it was better than his fourth share of a bachelor’s cabin, better than the crowded saloon and smoking-rooms, with their pervading glare and odour of high polish. Through the open port-hole came the sound of the rushing, swirling waters, punctuated by the slap of some sudden wave against the flank of the ship. A wind had arisen, and now and again gusts, cold and briny, rushed in upon the warm inner atmosphere of flowers. Lady Gerardine held a large bouquet of Niphetos roses, and her pale long fingers were busy unrolling the bonds that braced them in artificial deportment. Their petals, thought the man, were no whiter than her cheeks. Presently Aspasia plunged her healthy pink hands down among the languid blossoms and began pulling out the wires.