"Oh, jist hear him," said Pat in disgust. "Why, I've seen ye all day in the saddle under a burnin' sun, and divil a growl from ye, and yet when I offer ye a pretty girl to dance with, ye refuse; and as for the girl, begad, her beauty would tempt St. Anthony himself and small blame to him." "Who is she?" asked the Australian, with some show of interest. "Miss Lester, no less." "I thought you were sweet there yourself Pat." "I'm sweet on all the girls me boy--there's safety in numbers, and I believe in quantity as well as quality." "You're getting too deep for me," said Ronald, pulling a very black pipe from his pocket, "so I'll go and have a smoke." "A pipe too!" echoed Pat; "faith, it's woman's greatest enemy." "And man's greatest friend," retorted Monteith, as he strolled off. Pat, laughing, went away to arrange another dance, and to this end asked Mrs. Pellypop to play the Lancers. Mrs. Pellypop, tall, majestic and aggressively virtuous, was the mother-in-law of a Bishop, and was on her way home to pay her daughter a visit, an event regarded by the worthy prelate with anything but unmixed joy. She had an eye-glass--very effective to crush presuming people--a chilling smile and very strong opinions about her own position; in short she was a type of all that was virtuous and--disagreeable. While the dancing was thus going on Ronald, having lighted his pipe, strolled up and down the long deck for a few minutes, then leaned meditatively over the side and watched the glittering waters sweeping past. While thus engaged he felt a light touch on his arm, and, on turning round, saw a man he knew standing near him. "Hullo, Ventin," said Ronald, removing his beloved pipe for a moment, "why aren't you dancing?" "Because I hate dancing," retorted Mr. Ventin irritably; "I'm sick of the perpetual jangle of that d--d piano, of Miss Lester's flirtations, and of Mother Pellypop's virtues--I'm sick of the whole thing and I wish the voyage were over." "I don't," replied Ronald taking a seat on one of the deck chairs; "it's very jolly I think." "Yes, I daresay," said Ventin gloomily; "you are young and rich, with all the world before you. I, on the contrary, am old." "Rubbish!" "If not in years, at least in experience. I have lost all my illusions, and have discovered the gold of fancy to be only the tinsel of reality. You stand on the threshold of a happy career; I can only look back on a ruined life." Ronald looked at him curiously as he spoke. A handsome face certainly, but with innumerable wrinkles and hollow cheeks; dark, piercing, restless eyes; black, smooth hair touched with white at the temples; and a thin-lipped mouth, with a heavy, dark mustache. Yes, Lionel Ventin was handsome, but one whom a woman would rather fear than admire. For the rest, a slender figure, high-bred manner, and in general a cool, nonchalant demeanour, which but ill accorded with the restless glances of his eyes on this particular night.