"You could say that of a dozen--twenty. I presume there are at least four disappointed mothers on board, besides Jane Burlison. Not that any of them ever had much encouragement from him--I'll say that for him. They'd about given him up as hopeless when he went off and married this country girl. One thing is certain--in spite of her fine clothes she hasn't the air his wife ought to have--she's not his equal." "What's that you say?" The questioner was a sallow-faced youth upon the black-eyed lady's other side. Sunk deep in a fur-lined coat, his cap pulled low over his eyes--which were precisely like hers, even to the expression of discontent--he had seemed for the last hour to be slumbering. But at the moment he looked quite wide awake, as he turned his head toward his mother and challenged her latest statement. "What's that you say?" he repeated, in her own acrimonious tone. "Oh, have you come to at last?" she inquired. "It is quite impossible to remember that though you sleep for hours you are liable to wake in time to contradict me on any point whatever. In this case it is of no consequence what I may have said." "You were handing us the hot dope about Mrs. Craig's not being in the same class with Dr. Jeff. It certainly does take a woman to stick her claws into another woman's fur. There's one thing I can tell you--there isn't a man on board who'd agree with you. If she's a country girl--you can say good-bye for me to the little old town. I'm going to take to rural life till I find another. Talk about peaches and cream!" "I believe I did not mention her complexion," his mother observed coldly. "Neither did your little son--though it would bear mentioning. I should say yes! You said she hadn't any air. Jupiter--there she comes now. No air!" He subsided into his high-turned fur collar but his eyes watched intently as the Craigs, still walking briskly after at least an hour's exercise, came up the deck from the stern. His mother, on the contrary, let her drooping lids fall indifferently. The moment they were out of possible hearing the young man sat up. "By Jove, if you call that no air, tell the grande dames to get a move on. She walks like a young goddess--that's what." "Silly boy! Nobody is talking of her face or her gait. If you don't know what I mean, no one can tell you." "Oh, I know what you mean," her son assured her. "I get you. What I say is--you don't get _her_! Jefferson Craig's the one who gets her--lucky chap! Maybe he doesn't know it--oh, no! Maybe not!" And turning his back he once more appeared to slumber.