"She's dying to see 'dear old Larry.' Sit tight, she's on her way now," he added, in a lower voice. Isabelle permitted herself a look. A tall, handsome woman was coming down the deck, with a swaying sort of walk that was fascinating. She was very smartly turned out. A rather fat man, with prominent eyes, accompanied her. They stopped beside Larry's chair, and she exclaimed enthusiastically: "How are you, old dear? They would not let me into your stateroom, or I should have been holding your hand, and giving Mrs. Grundy a treat." "Larry" got to his feet and accomplished a gallant bow. "Awf'lly good of ye," he said, smiling, holding her hand in his. "You know Monty Haven, don't you? Captain Larry O'Leary, Monty, and Major O'Dell." So his name was Larry O'Leary, mused Isabelle. She liked its softness on the tongue. "Does your wound trouble you, you brave thing?" Mrs. Darlington purred. "Oh, no. Coming all right. It's nothing." "Nothing? Do you know what this wonderful creature did, under fire and all, Monty?" she demanded. "O kind and beautiful lady, spare me blushes. I'm after being Irish and susceptible to flattery," he cried. "Larry, you old heart-breaker, don't look at me in that wistful Celtic way," she commanded. "Mrs. Darlington, dear, ye may as well resign yersilf to bein' looked at," he retorted. "It is good to hear your blarney and your brogue, Larry. By the way, old Mrs. Van Dyke is aboard and demands a sight of you." "Does she now? Come along and let's pay our respects to the old lady." She put her hand through his arm, and they sauntered off, with the other two men in their wake. "Handsome woman, wasn't she?" Miss Watts remarked. "No. I don't like that type. She struck me as _bold_." Captain Larry O'Leary was the spoiled and petted darling of the boat. The tale of his gallant action under fire, of his wounds, of his decoration for valour, was passed from mouth to mouth, and lost nothing in the retelling. The men liked him because he was a simple, modest chap, in spite of it all. The women followed him around like a cloud of gnats. He jollied them all from old Madam Van Dyke, who was seventy, to the smallest girl child on the boat. He looked like a hero out of a fairy book. He had a rollicking, contagious laugh, and a courteous heart toward every one. At the ship concert for the benefit of wounded soldiers, he sang the songs of the trenches, and the marching songs of the Irish troops, the English and the French, in a clear baritone voice. There is no hope of disguising the fact that Larry O'Leary was too good to be true. Like the star in the melodrama, he was 99 per cent. hero.