“Blue, with gold things on it—Dragons,” said Eleanor eagerly, “and marks down the front like this—” She drew a few lines on the paper beside her. “Ah—!” The man’s breath gave a little whistling sound.... “That is a very old coat,” he said softly. “Hundreds of years—very, very old.” His face took on a strange, removed look. “It will be difficult to find—I am afraid.” He spoke the words with a clear, clipping sound, and looked out to the west, steadying himself to the motion of the boat. “There are not many chances of finding it,” he said at last with grave accent. “But I will help you—if I can.” “We are depending on you,” said Richard More. The man bowed and walked away. After that Eleanor saw him often, mingling with the different groups of Chinamen on the deck and talking and laughing with easy familiarity. “He is making inquiries,” said Richard. “He tells me there are people on board from nearly every province in China. He may find a clew before we leave the boat.” It might have been only imagination on Eleanor’s part that the groups of Chinamen began to regard her with interest. As they passed her chair, she would fancy for a moment she caught a gleam in the opaque black eyes.... Then, as she looked, it was gone.... A group of them, by the ship’s rail, talking in clear staccato tones, would give her a sudden sense that she was closely concerned in what they were saying. But when she looked, the stolid faces were as impassive as the long black queues depending from each round hat almost to the ship’s deck and responding in oblique black lines to the attraction of gravity—as the boat moved up and down.... After a time she ceased to think of them. She sat in her chair, day after day, with half-closed eyes, watching the faces drift past and the water beyond the ship’s rail rise and fall. XXII THEY made no friends on the boat as they had made none in the train. It had rested her to leave all social relations behind as the train moved west, and she showed a strange reluctance to forming new ties. She seemed to have swung free from the past.... Richard, as he watched her, had a sense that she gathered herself for something she was journeying to meet.... Her face against the steamer-chair seemed to absorb light. It held a still look—as if it waited some signal. But if Eleanor More, lying in her chair, made no acquaintances on the boat, and if the groups of Chinamen did not seem to observe her as they passed, there were others on the boat who showed open interest in the quiet figure that lay day after day looking under lowered lids to the west. More than one woman slowed her pace as she came near the steamer-chair. Sometimes they lingered a moment ready to enter into conversation. But it was always Richard More who spoke to them, and after a minute’s courteous talk walked on with them, leaving the steamer-chair to its unbroken quiet.