“Oh, no,” said Lydia. “Mr. Dunham hasn't arranged anything yet.” Staniford thought this uncandid. It was fighting shy of Hicks, who was the person in his own mind; and it reawakened a suspicion which was lurking there. “Mr. Dunham seems to have lost his interest.” This struck Staniford as an expression of pique; it reawakened quite another suspicion. It was evident that she was hurt at the cessation of Dunham's attentions. He was greatly minded to say that Dunham was a fool, but he ended by saying, with sarcasm, “I suppose he saw that he was superseded.” “Mr. Hicks plays well,” said Lydia, judicially, “but he doesn't really know so much of music as Mr. Dunham.” “No?” responded Staniford, with irony. “I will tell Dunham. No doubt he's been suffering the pangs of professional jealousy. That must be the reason why he keeps away.” “Keeps away?” asked Lydia. “_Now_ I've made an ass of myself!” thought Staniford. “You said that he seemed to have lost his interest,” he answered her. “Oh! Yes!” assented Lydia. And then she remained rather distraught, pulling at the ruffling of her dress. “Dunham is a very accomplished man,” said Staniford, finding the usual satisfaction in pressing his breast against the thorn. “He's a great favorite in society. He's up to no end of things.” Staniford uttered these praises in a curiously bitter tone. “He's a capital talker. Don't you think he talks well?” “I don't know; I suppose I haven't seen enough people to be a good judge.” “Well, you've seen enough people to know that he's very good looking?” “Yes?” “You don't mean to say you don't think him good looking?” “No,--oh, no, I mean--that is--I don't know anything about his looks. But he resembles a lady who used to come from Boston, summers. I thought he must be her brother.” “Oh, then you think he looks effeminate!” cried Staniford, with inner joy. “I assure you,” he added with solemnity, “Dunham is one of the manliest fellows in the world!” “Yes?” said Lydia. Staniford rose. He was smiling gayly as he looked over the broad stretch of empty deck, and down into Lydia's eyes. “Wouldn't you like to take a turn, now?” “Yes,” she said promptly, rising and arranging her wrap across her shoulders, so as to leave her hands free. She laid one hand in his arm and gathered her skirt with the other, and they swept round together for the start and confronted Hicks. “Oh!” cried Lydia, with what seemed dismay, “I promised Mr. Hicks to practice a song with him.” She did not try to release her hand from Staniford's arm, but was letting it linger there irresolutely. Staniford dropped his arm, and let her hand fall. He bowed with icy stiffness, and said, with a courtesy so fierce that Mr. Hicks, on whom he glared as he spoke, quailed before it, “I yield to your prior engagement.” XIV.