She was still watching him from under her long, indolent lashes; and of a sudden she changed her tone. "Are you vexed? You find me not sympathetic? Perhaps I am not. Perhaps I am a little incredulous. You have told me very little; but I surmise; and when a young lady remains away from her lover, and does not wish it to be known where she is, then I confess I grow suspicious. Instead of ’Seek the woman,’ it is ’Find the man’—oh, I mean in most cases—I mean in most cases—not in all—you must not misunderstand me!" "In this case you are mistaken, then," said Vincent, briefly. Indeed the gay young grass-widow found that she could not get very far into Vincent’s confidence in this matter; and when she indulged in a little pleasantry, he grew reserved and showed a disposition to withdraw; whereupon she thought it better to give up the subject altogether. But she did not give him up; on the contrary, she took possession of him more completely than ever; and made no secret of the favour she bestowed on him. For example, there was an amateur photographer on board; and one morning (everybody knew everybody else by this time) he came up to Mrs. de Lara, who was seated in her deck-chair, with a little band of devoted slaves and admirers surrounding her. "Mrs. de Lara," said he, "I’ve taken nearly everybody on board except you. Aren’t you going to give me a chance?" "Oh, yes," said she. "Yes, certainly." Then she looked round, and added, in the most natural way in the world—"But where is Mr. Harris?" "He’s in the saloon writing letters—I saw him there a minute ago," said one of the bystanders. "Won’t somebody go and fetch him?" she continued. "We ought to be all in—if Mr. Searle can manage it." Accordingly Vincent was summoned from below, and forthwith made his appearance. "You come and sit by me, Mr. Harris," said the young matron. "It would look absurd to have one sitting and all the others standing." "Oh, no—this will do," said Vincent, seating himself on a signal-cannon that was close to the rail, while he steadied himself by putting a hand on the shrouds. "Not at all," she protested, with a certain imperious wilfulness. "You’re too far over; you’ll be out of the picture altogether. There is Isabel’s chair over there: fetch that." And, of course, he had to do as he was bid; though it was rather a conspicuous position to assume. Then, when that negative was taken, she would have the grouping altered; Vincent had to stand by her side, with his arm on her chair; again he had to seat himself on the deck at her feet; whatever suggestions were made by the artist, she managed somehow that she and Vincent should be together. And when, next day, the bronze-brown proofs were handed about, they were very much admired—except, perhaps, by the lady-passengers, who could not understand why Mrs. de Lara should pose as the only woman on board the steamer.