usual pools, the usual night-long games of poker, the usual excitements
of passing ships and schools of dolphins--in a word, the usual
procession of trivial incidents which make up life on a great liner.

But in this life, Ignace Vard and his daughter had no part. Their meals
were served in their sitting-room, so that they missed that great
acquaintance-maker, the dinner table. Kasia, remembering the warning she
had received, kept aloof from every one; and Vard's ironical manner was
enough to keep every one aloof from him. However he did not notice it,
for he had discovered, among the books in the library, three novels by
Mr. John Galsworthy, and they absorbed him. He had been looking through
the books rather hopelessly, when the title, "The Island Pharisees," had
caught his eye. He opened the book, read a page, took it to his room and
finished it at a sitting. Its irony expressed him precisely, and over
the letter of apology and adieu from the wandering Frenchman to the lady
of the manor he fairly wept with joy. After that came "Fraternity" and
"The Man of Property," so that for him the two days passed quickly. One
thing about these books he could not understand--that they should have
been written by an Englishman!

Kasia did not return to the rendezvous on the after boat-deck. Something
held her back--an emotion of shyness new to her. But on Saturday
afternoon, Dan ran the blockade of the after companion-way, penetrated
brazenly to the first-class promenade, joined her where she stood
leaning against the rail, and led her away resolutely to a seat on the
upper deck.

"Is this the way to treat an old friend?" he demanded. "Are you aware
that I sat for hours, last night...."

She laid a warning finger on his sleeve.

"We must not run any risk," she said, in a low tone. "No one must
suspect that we know each other."

His face brightened. She had accepted the term "old friend," without
appearing surprised by it.

"Was that the reason?"

She nodded.

"You _wanted_ to come?"

Another nod.

Dan breathed a long sigh of happiness.

"That makes it all right," he said. "I forgive you. And after you're
ashore I may come to see you?"

"Certainly you may!"

"What is your address?"

"Two hundred and ten West Sixty-fourth Street."

He made a note of it.

"May I come the first evening?"

She laughed a delicious laugh--a laugh of pure joy. There was nothing of
the coquette about Kasia. She was all woman.

"I