"Move your chair a little--the way the boat’s going. The wind can’t hurt you." Visibly loth, Susan shifted her chair. "What makes you think it is he, Susan?" I demanded. "I don’t know, Miss," said Susan. "Come, now. There must be something." "No, Miss," answered Susan. "It’s just a dreadful feeling that keeps coming over me." "Then the sooner you put the dreadful feeling on one side, the better," I said unpleasantly. "I hardly call it complimentary to Lord Ruddington that you should mistake him for a man like that." Susan began her new pout--the bride-elect pout that was never in Susan’s world till last Thursday. It annoyed me. "Why," I said, "if that’s Lord Ruddington, all I can say is that poor Gibson is fit to be a duke or a prince beside him." Susan was touched in a raw place. She pouted worse than ever. I couldn’t help saying: "One has only to look at his legs!" "I was thinking, Miss," said the bride-elect, "that they was rather nice." She actually turned her head, and had begun to take quite a deliberate peep at the rather nice legs, when I addressed her sharply. "Susan," I said, "so long as you’re with me, you’ll be so good as to behave yourself properly. I’m surprised." She recalled her wanton glance at once, and blushed suitably and sufficiently. Gibson is only partly right about Susan’s head being turned. If it were turned more than a very, very little, she wouldn’t be able to obey so fully and promptly and shamefacedly when I whistle her straying fancy back to heel. "What have you done with those two magazines?" I asked. "Why don’t you read them? If you don’t look at him, he won’t look at you." My dutiful Susan did her best. So did I. But my best was no better than Susan’s. Try as I would, I couldn’t restrain myself from darting an occasional glance at the brute in grey to see if he was still staring; and, try as I might, I couldn’t ignore the fact that Susan was doing the same. At the end of about ten minutes, we did it at the same moment. "You’re looking again, Susan," I snapped angrily. It was mean of me and dishonest, I know. Besides, it was taking an ungenerous advantage of my powers as Susan’s mistress. But I had to save my dignity. And Susan would have done the same in my place. Susan hung her head. "I’m very sorry, Miss," she said. "I was really trying not to, Miss. But it’s such a dreadful feeling. I feel as if I _must_ look." "Susan," I said ingeniously, "we will suppose, just for a moment, that the creature is Lord Ruddington. For your sake, and his own sake, and everybody’s sake, I hope and believe he isn’t. But let us suppose he is." "Yes, Miss," said Susan patiently. "Susan, I put it to you. If he _is_ Lord Ruddington, what will he think of you for casting sheep’s eyes at him, and looking up and looking down, and blushing, and all the rest of it?" "I don’t think it’s him as ought to complain, Miss," said Susan, "seeing it’s him that’s making me do it."