e nearly as many and
aspirations not quite as high as those of Miss Grace Harmon.

The steamer stayed in port over a week, much to the delight of the
passengers, who enjoyed the holiday ashore hugely after having been
cooped up so long aboard. The weather continued ideal, and every one
took advantage of it to see everything that was worth seeing.

The more enterprising passengers undertook little side excursions up the
historic Nile; others roamed through the native bazaars, buying at
exorbitant prices a vast quantity of things for which they had no
possible use; others drove to the tomb of Mehemet Ali, or to the
viceroys' palace, keeping up the sightseeing day and night, until all
were so weary that they were glad when the _Atlanta_ once more weighed
anchor and proceeded down the Red Sea and so into the Indian Ocean, _en
route_, for Bombay.

CHAPTER IV.

As she sat on the deck, reclining indolently in her steamer-chair,
propped up with soft cushions, gazing dreamily on the splendid panorama
that unfolded slowly before her--the endless procession of majestic,
foam-tipped waves, fleecy clouds drifting lazily in a sky of turquoise
blue, the sails of a distant vessel whitened by the sun--Grace felt
exuberant with the joy of life.

The latest novel was on her lap, yet she made no attempt to read. Mrs.
Stuart, stretched out on a chair alongside, had vainly endeavored to
engage her in conversation. But she did not care to talk, and she found
it impossible to center her attention on a book, preferring to just lay
still, her eyes semi-closed, rocked gently by the steamer's gradual
motion, her senses gently thrilled by the sensuous sounds of ship and
sea.

The promenade-deck presented the picture of comfort and peace usually to
be seen, any fine morning on a liner in mid-ocean--the passengers of
both sexes laid out in rows, mummylike, on steamer-chairs, each covered
with a rug different from his neighbor's and of bizarre design and
color, some reading, some sleeping, some conversing in subdued tones,
some sipping cups of bouillon brought on trays by nimble stewards; the
decks scrubbed an immaculate white, the brasses highly polished; a
neatly uniformed quartermaster standing at a gangway, patiently splicing
a rope; two officers on the bridge sweeping the horizon with their
glasses or pacing up and down with monotonous precision. With no noises
to irritate the ear, a sea voyage has no equal as a rest cure. One hear