ral expression and some reserve of manner, she replied: "My husband
was not a naval man."

She said "was not." That implied his death.

There was no trouble in her manner; I could detect no sign of
excitement. I turned to look at the lights of the approaching vessel,
and there, leaning against the railing that divided the two decks, was
the Intermediate Passenger. He was looking at us intently. A moment
after he disappeared. Beyond doubt there was some intimate association
between these two.

My thoughts were, however, distracted by our vessel signalling the
other. Hungerford was passing just then, and I said: "Have you any idea
what vessel it is, Hungerford?"

"Yes, man-of-war 'Porcupine', bound for Aden, I think."

Mrs. Falchion at this laughed strangely, as she leaned forward looking,
and then, rising quickly, said: "I prefer to walk."

"May I accompany you?" I asked.

She inclined her head, and we joined the promenaders. The band was
playing, and, for a ship-band, playing very well, the ballet music
of Delibes' 'Sylvia'. The musicians had caught that unaccentuated
and sensuous swing of the melody which the soft, tropical atmosphere
rendered still more languorous. With Mrs. Falchion's hand upon my arm,
I felt a sense of capitulation to the music and to her, uncanny in its
suddenness. At this distance of time it seems to me absurd. I had once
experienced something of the same feeling with the hand of a young
medical student, who, skilled in thought-reading, discovered the number
of a bank-note that was in my mind.

This woman had an attractiveness compelling and delightful, at least in
its earlier application to me. Both professionally and socially I have
been brought into contact with women of beauty and grace, but never one
who, like Mrs. Falchion, being beautiful, seemed so unconscious of
the fact, so indifferent to those about her, so untouched by another's
emotion, so lacking in sensitiveness of heart; and who still drew people
to her. I am speaking now of the earlier portion of our acquaintance; of
her as she was up to this period in her life.

I was not alone in this opinion of her, for, as time went on, every
presentable man and woman on the boat was introduced to her; and if some
women criticised and some disliked her, all acknowledged her talent and
her imperial attraction. Among the men her name was never spoken but
with reserve and respect, and her afternoon teas were like a little
court. She ha