"Von Klausen has some antiquated ideas," remarked Stainton to Muriel as they were going to bed that night; "but he seems to be a pretty good sort of man. I like him." Muriel was standing before the mirror, brushing the blue-black hair that fell nearly to her knees. "Do you?" she asked, with no show of interest. "Yes, he has good stuff in him. Of course, he's a mere boy, but he has good stuff in him, I'm sure." "I don't see why you call him a boy," said Muriel, "Why? Why, because he _is_ a boy, my dear." "I'm sure you seem just as young as he is." Stainton laughed and kissed her. "Little Loyalty!" "I don't care," said Muriel, "I don't like him." "You don't? Why, I thought----" "I did like him at first, but I don't any more." "Why not? You ought to. He admires you tremendously." "Does he? How do you know?" "By what he says. He told me to-day that he had never seen but one pair of eyes equal to yours." "Only one? That was nice of him, I'm sure. What else did he say?" "He said--oh, lots of things. He said you had beautiful hair and that it somehow grew in curves from your forehead, and I said that he was quite right." "Is that all?" "All I can remember. How much do you want, anyhow?" "Well, I don't like him." "But why not?" "I don't know. I suppose because you like him too well. I hardly see you any more." Stainton assured his wife that no man or woman in the world was worth her little finger. He clambered into the upper berth and watched her for some time as her bared arm rose and fell, wielding the brush. At last the sight of that regular motion, added to the gentle rocking of the ship, closed his eyes. He had had a full day and was tired. He was soundly asleep when he was wakened by her embrace. She was standing on the ladder and pressing his face to hers. "Love me!" she was whispering. "O, Jim, love me!" Stainton was still half-asleep, "I do love you, Muriel," he said. "Yes, but--_Love_ me, Jim!" she whispered. She clutched him suddenly. "Ouch, my hair!" said Stainton. "You're pulling my hair!" "Oh!" Muriel's tone was all self-reproach. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you, dear?" "No," he smiled. "No. There, there!" He patted her head. "It's all right. Good-night, dearest." "Good-night?" There was a question in the words as she repeated them, but she retreated, albeit slowly, down the ladder. "Good-night, Jim." "Good-night, dear," he responded cheerily, "and--I do love you, you know." She answered from below: "Yes, Jim." "You do know it, don't you, dear heart?" "Yes, Jim." He heard her draw the bedclothes about her. When he awoke in the morning, she slept, but he would not breakfast until she was ready to breakfast with him, and so he sat, hungry, and waited for the hour that she devoted to her toilette. Then they went to the saloon, and afterwards to the deck, together.