"I am afraid I can not tell you much," he answered, with some embarrassment. "She is a good woman. I have heard Lady Lancaster say that much." "Of course, you can not be expected to know much about a mere housekeeper," with a distinct inflection of bitterness in her voice. "Well, then, tell me about Lady Lancaster. Who is she?" "She is the mistress of Lancaster Park." "Is she nice?" "She is old and ugly and cross and very rich. Is all that nice, as you define it?" "No; only the last. It is nice to be rich, of course. That goes without saying. Well, then, is there a master?" "A master?" vaguely. "Of Lancaster Park, I mean." "Oh, yes." "And is he old and ugly and cross and rich?" pursued Miss West, curiously. "He is all but the last," declared Lancaster, unblushingly. "He is as poor as Job's turkey. That is not nice, is it?" "I know some people who are poor, but very, very nice," said the girl, with a decided air. "I am glad to hear you say so. I am very poor myself. I have been thinking that the reason you have snubbed me so unmercifully of late is because I so foolishly gave myself away when I first met you." "Gave yourself away?" uncomprehendingly. "I mean I told you I was poor. I beg your pardon for the slang phrase I used just now. One falls unconsciously into such habits in the army. But tell me, did you?" "Did I do what?" "Did you snub me because I am poor?" "I have not snubbed you at all," indignantly. "You have ignored me. That is even worse," he said. "Indeed I have not ignored you at all," she protested. "Well, then, you forgot me. That is the unkindest cut of all. I could bear to be snubbed, but I hate to be totally annihilated," said he, with a grieved air. She pursed her pretty lips and remained silent. "Now you want me to go away, I see," he remarked. "This is the first time you have let me talk to you since we came aboard, and already you are weary." "Yes, I am already weary," she echoed. She put her little hand over her lips and yawned daintily but deliberately. Burning with chagrin, he lifted his hat to her and walked away. "I can never speak to her but she makes me repent," he said to himself, and went and leaned moodily against the side, while he continued to himself: "What a little thorn she is, and how sharply she can wound." Leonora watched the retreating figure a moment, then leisurely opened her book again and settled herself to read. But she was not very deeply interested, it seemed, for now and then she glanced up under her long lashes at the tall, moveless figure of the soldier. At length she put down the book and went across to him. Gazing intently out to sea, he started when a hand soft and white as a snow-flake fluttered down upon his coat-sleeve. He glanced quickly around. "Miss West!" he exclaimed, in surprise. She glanced up deprecatingly into his face.