Mrs. Carey laughed scornfully. "No need to go so far," said she, and she beckoned with her hand. The stout man with the reddish beard came up, like some huge, dull animal called by its mistress. His sensuous, fat face was pallid with seasickness, and as he looked at Mrs. Carey there was a senile leer in his eye. "King George," said she, "this is a servant of Lord Brompton's." The decks were almost deserted, and no one was near enough to overhear them. The old man's mouth opened; but he could only stare vacantly. He stammered some incoherent syllables, and tried to bend his knees, but they knocked together, trembling. He doffed his hat, and, with the sea-breeze blowing his thin white hair about his temples, stood looking at the King. "I am sorry for your master," said the man with the beard. "But--it was useless. Was it not useless, my dear?" he added, turning to Mrs. Carey. She laughed contemptuously, but made no reply, and the two resumed their promenade upon the deck. Reynolds watched them a long time sadly. She seemed to have complete control over the man, and Reynolds noticed that he even brought her a footstool, when she sat upon her sea-chair upon the deck. No one among the passengers seemed to know him or notice him; but many an admiring glance was turned upon Mrs. Carey. "Curse the jade!" said Reynolds to himself. Now, indeed, he saw that it was all true, and felt for the first time that his master would never come back to Ripon House. But he could not understand it. To say that the sun fell from the heavens would be but a poor simile to describe the effect this interview produced on the old man's mind. He sat like one dazed through the rest of the voyage. And King George, passing him, saw the old man sitting there, and felt ashamed, abased, before the look of the old servant. Only Mrs. Carey had a proud sparkle in her evil eyes, and gloated in spirit at the message that the man would take to his master back in England. And when, on the fifth day, they landed in Boston, she got into a carriage and drove off with the King, and Reynolds saw her wave her jewelled hand at him from the window. He himself asked for the house of Mr. Abraham Windsor. Mr. Windsor, like most rich Americans, had a winter house in Boston, a plantation in Florida, a palace in Mexico, a shooting-box in the mountains of Montana, and other arrangements for circumventing the American climate; and Reynolds was driven to a great stone house, with court and gardens, fronting on a park. He asked for Miss Windsor; the servant looked at him curiously, but bade him wait.