His only rival for the centre of the stage on the brief voyage was Isabelle. At first she kept to herself, because she was ill, and wanted to be alone. But after a bit she grasped the fact that her aloofness was a sensation, and she was not too ill to enjoy that. Her perambulations about the deck were watched with undiminished interest. Everybody knew everybody else. There were dances, and games and knitting contests, but to all invitations Isabelle replied in the negative. "Why don't you talk to some of these people, Isabelle? They seem very pleasant," Miss Watts said. "Oh," sighed the girl, "they bore me." Captain O'Leary had made several attempts to get an opening to speak to her in the afternoon, but she had successfully evaded them. Mrs. Darlington in search of the bonny Captain spoke to her. "Your handsome neighbour isn't on deck?" "Isn't he?" said Isabelle. "I hadn't noticed." Mrs. Darlington stared, laughed, retreated and the story went the rounds. It amused O'Leary, and it also piqued him. He was used to being noticed by ladies in his vicinity. He made up his mind that he would make that girl look at him. He intended to lay siege to Miss Watts, but he came upon Isabelle unattended, in deep contemplation of the sea, and he promptly sat down beside her. "I beg pardon, Miss Bryce, but are you Irish?" he said deliberately. She turned big, enquiring eyes upon him. "No. Why?" "I thought nobody could be as sad as you look except an Irishman." "I'm not Irish," she said, and returned her gaze to the sea. "I am," he exclaimed. No answer. "We're very sensitive to--to rebuffs." "I suppose so. You were shot in a rebuff, weren't you?" she said, politely. His laugh rang out at that. "Yes, but we're not so sensitive to a rebuff from guns as we are to a rebuff from ladies." "No?" "Have ye taken an unconquerable dislike to me, Miss Bryce?" he begged. "I think you're very--pleasant," admitted Isabelle. "Couldn't ye take a lesson from me?" "You think I'm unpleasant?" "I think your heart is as hard as the rocks in Flodden Field," he exclaimed. "Being pleasant hasn't anything to do with your heart," was her calm reply. "Hasn't it? Ye think I can be as pleasant as I am, and still have a hard, black heart?" She shrugged her shoulders. "So you don't like me?" he persisted. "Yes, rather. But I'm a little tired of heroes just now," was her reply. "I'm afraid I don't qualify," he said curtly, "but as a possible nuisance I'll take mesilf off." He rose. He stopped behind her chair and leaned over her to say: "That rebuff, ye spoke of, in France. After all, it was an amateur affair, as rebuffs go." With which he marched off down the deck, his head very high in the air. Miss Watts sat down beside Isabelle with a quick glance at her. "Weren't you talking to Captain O'Leary?" "He talked to me." "Isn't he charming? All the women are so excited about him." "That's what's the matter with him." "Is he conceited?"