But the lady--well, she has been described before, and as Ronald looked at her he only found new perfections. She had rather a sad expression on her face, and her head was a little bent down, but, for the rest, she was as straight and graceful as Artemis. Ronald, who had stoutly resisted all the blandishments of the pretty girls on board, caught one glance of those brilliantly black eyes and surrendered at once. He also caught the glance of another pair of eyes which did not regard him in such a friendly manner, and drew himself up haughtily as he left Mrs. Pellypop, and went down to the saloon. "What the deuce did that foreign cad mean by staring at me like that;" he muttered, quite forgetting that the cad in question had a title, and was of higher rank than himself; "I don't suppose he has anything to do with her; perhaps they are engaged--hang it, it's impossible, she'd never throw herself away on a thing like that. I'll ask old mother Pellypop to-morrow, she'll be sure to know all about her in that time." Having thus, in his own mind, satisfactorily settled the affair, Ronald went down to his cabin to dress for dinner. Meanwhile Miss Cotoner and her cousin were having a few words on the subject of Mr. Monteith. "What a handsome man," said Miss Cotoner, following the tall figure of the Australian with her eyes. "Bah! a beef-eating Englishman," retorted Vassalla, with an angry light in his wicked black eyes, "he has no brain." "You've to find that out yet," retorted the young lady, who seemed to take delight in tormenting her companion. "I think he's charming. I'm sure he looks it; I saw him yesterday on the Barraca." "Remember you are engaged to me," replied the Marchese, angrily. "By my parents, yes," she replied, coldly; "but not with my own consent." "Consent, bah! let wiser heads guide yours, Carmela." "Well, I certainly would not ask your head to take the position," replied Carmela, contemptuously. "Why do you annoy me like this; do you think I left my sister only to be worried by you? No, I don't think so, there is too much of the frying-pan into the fire theory in that for me." "I will get your sister to take you back," he said, vindictively. "Oh no, you won't," she retorted, turning on him; "I'm of age--my own mistress, and I have elected to go and stop with my cousins in England. If I choose to marry an Englishman I certainly will in spite of your threats; so good-bye Matteo, I'm going to dress for dinner," and she walked gracefully away, leaving the Marchese in a delightful temper. "Bah!" he muttered angrily to himself, "she is only a woman; patience my good Matteo, you shall win her yet, and then----." He closed his mouth with an angry snap that did not argue well for the happiness of Miss Cotoner's future life.