As she came out she noticed a little card-tray in the corner of the living-room, and idly turned the names over, one by one. Of a sudden her hand fell, and her eyes were fixed intently upon a card that had just come into sight. It bore the legend: MR. FRANCIS GRANTHOPE She threw herself upon the couch by the window and broke into sobs. "Say, Fancy! It’s after seven o’clock," Cayley called to her from the kitchen. She stumbled to her feet and went out on deck, dipped her handkerchief in the salt water and bathed her eyes. Cayley came out just as she finished. It was too dark, now, to notice her expression. They took the rowboat which had been nuzzling alongside the flank of the ark all day, made for the shore and went aboard the steamer. It was crowded with Sunday picnickers, who came trooping on in groups, singing, the girls flushed and sunburned with hair distraught and dusty shoes; the men in jovial, uncouth disarray in canvas and in corduroy, like tramps and vagabonds, laden with ferns and flowers. Hunters, with guns and dogs, tramped aboard; fishermen, with rods and baskets; tired families, lagging, whining, came in weary procession. Both decks of the boat were crowded. A brass band struck up a popular air. The restaurant, the bar and the bootblack stand all did a great business. Cayley and Fancy Gray went to the upper deck for a last draft of the summer breeze. As they sat there, talking little, watching the throng of uneasy passengers, Fancy called his attention to a couple sitting opposite. It was a strangely assorted pair, the girl and the man. She was about twenty years of age, with a pretty, earnest, freckled face and a modest air. She was talking happily, with undisguised fondness, to the young man beside her. His face was hideous, without a nose. In its place was a livid scar and a depression perforated by nostrils that made his appearance malign. He wore nothing to conceal the mutilation, shocking as it was. His manner toward the girl was that of a lover, devoted and tender. "Did you ever see anything so awful?" said Fancy. "And isn’t she terribly in love with him though! I know who she is; her name is Fleurette Heller. She came into Granthope’s studio once and I took a great liking to her. Frank told her that her love affair would come out all right, and she’d be happier than she ever was in her life before." "I don’t see how she can endure that object," said Cayley. "Don’t you?" said Fancy, "that’s because you don’t know women. She’s in love with him. I understand it perfectly. I wouldn’t care a bit how he looked."