Meanwhile Ronald Monteith had become the slave of Carmela Cotoner, and, judging from her gracious manner towards him, she was in no wise displeased at having him at her feet. Ronald had hitherto laughed at the tender passion, but now he was being paid back for insulting the god of Love, as he found out to his cost. He was always at Carmela's elbow--carried her rugs and pillows about for her, danced with her, read poetry to her, and, in fact, was so constant in his attentions, that it was soon patent to the whole ship that Monteith was madly in love with the girl from Malta. And, indeed, she was called nothing else. Mrs. Pellypop, not knowing her name at first, had given her that title, and everyone else followed suit. She was the belle of the ship, vice Kate Lester resigned, and was always followed by an adoring crowd of young men, of whom Ronald grew unspeakably jealous, and would get quite sulky if she smiled or spoke to anyone else. He carried this absurd behaviour to such an extent that Pat Ryan took him to task one day for his sins. "You are a jolly old ass, Ronald," observed the candid Irishman, "to go on like this, making a fool of yourself." "I can't help it," said Monteith, ruefully surveying at a distance a group of young fellows standing round Carmela; "just look at her; she doesn't care a bit about me." "Of course, you say that," said Pat, lighting a cigarette, "because she doesn't devote herself exclusively to you. I tell ye what, girls don't like being made faces at because they speak to another fellow; hang it, I've seen you speak to girls enough." "That was before I--I," hesitatingly, "met Miss Cotoner." "Before you were in love, ye mean," retorted Pat; "begad, ye've got the disease badly. Are ye going to marry her?" "I will, if she'll have me." "Then why don't you ask her?" "I've only known her a few days. Isn't that rather soon?" "Not a bit, women like to be taken by storm," wisely remarked Pat, who was just out of the nursery, and fancied he knew the sex--Heaven help him--"go in, and win, my boy." "By Jove I will," said Ronald, eagerly, and then fell to thinking what his father would say to the marriage. He didn't know who the young lady was--what she was--knew nothing about her family, and yet--and yet, he adored her. Why shouldn't he marry her? He was his own master, and if his father cut him off with a shilling, he could work--she was worth working for--yes, he would ask her to marry him--of course she would say yes--for it never entered this confident young man's head that women sometimes say "No." So Master Ronald went on building castles in the air, all inhabited by himself and Mrs. Monteith--no hang it, not yet--the girl from Malta.