rowned and smiled and lifted her brows in sympathy with
the emotions of the damsel in the song. And Miss Guinevere's eyes being
expressive and her lips very red, the result proved most satisfactory
to the audience.

One stout young man in particular expressed himself in such unrestrained
terms of enthusiasm, that Guinevere, after singing several songs, became
visibly embarrassed. Upon the plea of being too warm she made her
escape, half-promising to return and sing again later on.

Flushed with the compliments and the excitement, and a little uncertain
about the propriety of it all, she hurried through the swing-door and,
turning suddenly on the deck, stumbled over something in the darkness.

It proved to be a pair of long legs that were stretched out in front of
a silent figure, who shot a hand out to restore Miss Gusty to an upright
position. But the deck was slippery from the rain, and before he could
catch her, she went down on her knees.

"Did it hurt you?" a voice asked anxiously.

"It don't matter about me," answered Guinevere, "just so it didn't spoil
my new dress. I'm afraid there's an awful tear in it."

"I hope not," said the voice. "I'd hate to be guilty of dress slaughter
even in the second degree. Sure you are not hurt? Sit down a minute;
here's a chair right behind you, out of the wind."

Guinevere groped about for the chair. "Mother can mend it," she went on,
voicing her anxiety, "if it isn't too bad."

"And if it is?" asked the voice.

"I'll have to wear it, anyhow. It's brand splinter new, the first one I
ever had made by a sure-enough dressmaker."

"My abominable legs!" muttered the voice.

Guinevere laughed, and all at once became curious concerning the person
who belonged to the legs.

He had dropped back into his former position, with feet outstretched,
hands in pockets, and cap pulled over his eyes, and he did not seem
inclined to continue the conversation.

She drew in deep breaths of the cool air, and watched the big side-wheel
churn the black water into foam, and throw off sprays of white into the
darkness. She liked to be out there in the sheltered corner, watching
the rain dash past, and to hear the wind whistling up the river. She was
glad to be in the dark, too, away from all those gentlemen, so ready
with their compliments. But the sudden change from the heated saloon to
the cold deck chilled her, and she sneezed.

Her companion stirred. "If you are going to stay out here,