re her of the
following facts: he was handsome "as an army with banners"; he wore an
English officer's uniform; and he was very pale. She decided to have
another look in a moment.

She settled herself comfortably--aware that his eyes were upon her--and
opened her book, with an air of great detachment. Miss Watts was not on
deck at the moment. It was some time before she got another chance to
look at him unobserved. She saw that he had crinkly hair and a
ridiculous little moustache, twisted at the tips. He had his eyes
closed. He certainly was white, but one strong, lean, brown hand lay on
his lap, giving her a feeling of relaxed power. His eyes opened
unexpectedly, and she had to return to her book in haste. His eyes were
very blue and she thought there was a smile in them.

Miss Watts's arrival interrupted this interchange, if it was an
interchange. But in a few minutes another officer came to chat with the
invalid.

"Hello, Larry, old man, how are ye?" he inquired.

"I'm fairly fit to-day, thanks."

"Glad you can be on deck."

"Rather. I thought I'd croak in that hole of a stateroom."

"Lot of people aboard we know. Mrs. Darlington, for one. Remember her in
London?"

"Rather."

"She's dying to see 'dear old Larry.' Sit tight, she's on her way now,"
he added, in a lower voice.

Isabelle permitted herself a look. A tall, handsome woman was coming
down the deck, with a swaying sort of walk that was fascinating. She was
very smartly turned out. A rather fat man, with prominent eyes,
accompanied her. They stopped beside Larry's chair, and she exclaimed
enthusiastically:

"How are you, old dear? They would not let me into your stateroom, or I
should have been holding your hand, and giving Mrs. Grundy a treat."

"Larry" got to his feet and accomplished a gallant bow.

"Awf'lly good of ye," he said, smiling, holding her hand in his.

"You know Monty Haven, don't you? Captain Larry O'Leary, Monty, and
Major O'Dell."

So his name was Larry O'Leary, mused Isabelle. She liked its softness on
the tongue.

"Does your wound trouble you, you brave thing?" Mrs. Darlington purred.

"Oh, no. Coming all right. It's nothing."

"Nothing? Do you know what this wonderful creature did, under fire and
all, Monty?" she demanded.

"O kind and beautiful lady, spare me blushes. I'm after being Irish and
susceptible to flattery," he cried.

"Larry, you old heart-breaker, don't look at me in that wistful Celtic
way," she