"What nonsense!" the young widow exclaimed (but she did not seem resentful). "Well, now, I must go along to the _White Rose_, and make my peace, and angle for an invitation; and then, if I get it, I must concoct my excuses for Mrs. Lawrence. Anyhow I shall be on board the _Villeggiatura_ all the afternoon; and then I hope to have the pleasure of introducing you to Louie Drexel—that is the young lady I have designed for Vin, when he has shaken off those adventurers and come to his right mind." Almost immediately thereafter Mrs. Ellison had secured a boatman to pull her along to the _White Rose_; and as she drew near, she perceived that Maisrie Bethune was alone in the stern of the house-boat, standing upright on the steering-thwart, and with both hands holding a pair of field-glasses to her eyes—an unconscious attitude that showed the graceful figure of the girl to the best advantage. The observant visitor could also remark that her costume was simplicity itself: a blouse of white soft stuff, with wide sleeves and tight cuffs; a belt of white silk round her waist; and a skirt of blue serge. She wore no head-covering; and her neatly-braided hair caught several soft-shining hues from the sun—not a wonder and glory of hair, perhaps, (as Vin Harris would have deemed it) but very attractive all the same to the feminine eye, and somehow suggestive of girlhood, and making for sympathy. And then, when a "Good-morning!" brought round a startled face and a proud, clear look that was nothing abashed or ashamed, Mrs. Ellison’s conscience smote her that she had made use of the word adventuress, and bade her wait and see. "Good-morning!" Maisrie Bethune answered; and there came a touch of colour to the fine and sensitive features as she knew that the young matron was regarding her with a continuation of the curiosity of the preceding afternoon. "Have the gentlemen deserted you? Are you all alone?" Mrs. Ellison said. "Oh, no; they are inside," was the response. "Would you like to see Mr. Harris? Shall I call him?" "If you would be so kind!"—and therewith Maisrie disappeared into the saloon, and did not return. It was Vincent that came out—with terrible things written on his brow. "Don’t look at me like that, Vincent Harris!" Mrs. Ellison exclaimed, half-laughing and half-annoyed. "What have I done? It is you who are so hasty and inconsiderate. But I’ve come to make it all up with you; and to ask you to ask me to dine with you to-night." "No, thank you, aunt," he said, civilly enough. "You are very kind; but the fact is you would come with a prejudice; and so you’d better not come at all." Well, she had to be circumspect; for not only was her own boatman behind her, but there was a possibility of some stray sentence penetrating into the saloon.