She had gone aboard from the New York quay at nine the evening before, as she had been warned to do; she had looked into her cabin--a small, square white compartment with two bunks, upper and lower, an unupholstered seat, a washbowl with a looking glass beside the porthole and with a sort of built-in bureau with four drawers, above which was posted conspicuously the rules to be observed in emergencies. These were printed in French and English and were illustrated by drawings of exactly how to adjust the life-preservers to be found under all berths. Someone, whose handbaggage bore the initials “M. W.” and who evidently was to share the cabin with her, had been in before her and gone out. Ruth saw that the steward disposed her cabin baggage beside M. W.’s; she shut herself in a moment after the steward had gone, touching the pillow of her bunk, reading the rules again, trying the water-taps. She stood with shut eyes, breathing deliciously the strange, scrubbed, salty smells of a deep-water boat; she opened the door and went out to the deck with the darkness of the Hudson on one hand; upon the other, the myriad-lighted majesty of New York. She was standing there at the rail gazing up at the marvelous city when Hubert Lennon found her. He merely wanted to make sure she was aboard. Gerry Hull and Captain Lescault--he was the French officer who had spoken at Mrs. Corliss’--and an English captain, Forraker, of the same party, were aboard now; Lady Agnes and the Englishwomen with whom she traveled also were aboard, Hubert said. He was glad to find that Cynthia was all right; but he said that a nasty sea was running outside; the _Ribot_ might go out at any time. Hubert thought Cynthia had better go to bed and get all the sleep she could. Ruth went below, not with any idea of sleeping, but to avoid meeting Gerry Hull just yet. That she was aboard the _Ribot_ under orders did not undo the fact that she was here for the conscious purpose of furthering her acquaintance with him. He must guess that, she thought--he from whom she had heard nothing at all since that afternoon at Mrs. Corliss’. Ruth was ready for bed when someone put a key in the cabin door, but knocked before turning it, and a girl’s pleasant voice inquired, “All right to come in?” “All right,” Ruth said, covering up in bed. A dark-haired, dark-eyed girl of twenty-six or seven entered. “I’m Milicent Wetherell,” she introduced herself. “I’m from St. Louis; I’m going to Paris for work in a _vestiaire_.” Ruth sat up and put out her hand; she liked this girl on sight. “I’m Ru----Cynthia Gail of Decatur, Illinois,” she caught herself swiftly. It was the first time in the eight days that she had been Cynthia that she had made even so much of a slip; but Milicent Wetherell did not notice it.