From the ceiling of the cabin Lawler had suspended a spare blanket. It hung between the two tiers of bunks, thus providing a certain privacy for both Miss Wharton and Lawler. Lawler had been scrupulously considerate, and with a delicacy that must have earned her applause--had she been serious-minded--he had sought to seem unaware or indifferent to the many inevitable intimacies forced upon them by the nature of their association. He knew, however, that the girl was secretly laughing at him. Certain signs were convincing. On the first night of their enforced joint occupancy of the cabin, she had silently watched him tack the blanket to the ceiling; and though she had said nothing, he had noted a gleam in her eyes which had made him wonder if he should not have waited until _she_ suggested it. At other times he felt her gaze upon him--her eyes always glowing with the suggestion of silent mirth. She seemed to be amused over the delicacy he exhibited--to be wondering at it. Whether she appreciated it or not he did not know, or care. For he had noted other things that had increased his contempt of her. She was betraying absolutely no perturbation over her enforced stay in the cabin with him. On the contrary, her manner gave him the impression that she was enjoying herself and not thinking of the future. She was contented with the present. Moreover, he could not fail to be aware of her interest in him; for the many signs were infallible. Glances, the intonations of her voice, a way she had of standing close to him, of touching his hands or his shoulders--all was evidence of the guile he had detected in her, convincing him that she thought him desirable, and that she had decided to win him. But vanity in Lawler had long since been ruthlessly overwhelmed by the serious business of life. He had never had time--in his later years--to yield to the fatuous imaginings of youth. He had lived a rough, hard life, in which values were computed by the rule of sheer worth--a life that had taught him that performance, and not appearances, must be the standard by which all men and women must ultimately be judged. Lawler was not flattered by Della Wharton's feminine blandishments. He was grimly amused--when he was not disgusted; though he continued to treat her with the utmost courtesy and gentleness, trying to keep her from divining his emotions.