a little affectation on the part of the stage-struck committee? Isn't
it--inconsequent?"

"That depends," I said vaguely, inviting a question. She idled with a
book in her lap.

"On what?"

"On those who go, what costumes are worn, and how much beauty and art
appear."

"But the trouble! Does it pay? What return does one get?"

"If all admire, half are envious, some are jealous, and one is
devoted--isn't that enough?" I think I was a fool that night.

"You seem to understand women," she said, with a puzzling and not quite
satisfactory smile. "Yes, all that is something."

Though I was looking at the sea rather than at her, I saw again that
inquiring look in her eyes--such a measuring look as a recruiting
sergeant might give a victim of the Queen's shilling.

After a moment's pause she continued, I thought, abstractedly: "As what
should you go?"

I answered lightly and without premeditation, "As Caius Cassius. Why
should you not appear as Portia?"

She lifted her eyebrows at me.

"As Portia?"

"As Portia, the wife of Brutus," I blundered on, at the same time
receiving her permission, by a nod, to light my cigar.

"The pious, love-sick wife of Brutus!" This in a disdainful tone, and
the white teeth clicked softly together.

"Yes, a good disguise," I said banteringly, though I fancy somewhat
tentatively also, and certainly with a touch of rudeness. I was thinking
at that moment of the Intermediate Passenger, and I was curious.

"And you think of going in the disguise of a gentleman? Caius Cassius
was that, wasn't he?" she retorted in an ironical tone.

"I suppose he was, though he was punished once for rudeness," I replied
apologetically.

"Quite so," was the decisive reply.

I felt that she was perfectly cool, while I was a little confused, and
ashamed too, that I had attempted to be playfully satirical. And so,
wondering what I should say next, I remarked in desperation: "Do you
like the sea?"

"I am never ill at sea," was her reply. "But I do not really like it; it
is treacherous. The land would satisfy me if--" She paused.

"Yes, Mrs. Falchion--'if'?"

"If I did not wish to travel," she vaguely added, looking blandly at me.

"You have travelled much?" I ventured.

"A great deal;" and again I saw that scrutiny in her eyes. It occurred
to me at the moment that she might think I possessed some previous
knowledge of her.

My mind became occupied again with the Intermediate Passenger and the