and. Although
at times a mere blank speck on the gray waste of foam, a closer scrutiny
showed it to be one of those lateen-rigged Italian fishing boats that so
often flecked the distant bay. Lost in the sudden darkening of rain,
or reappearing beneath the lifted curtain of the squall, she watched
it weather the island, and then turn its laboring but persistent course
towards the open channel. A rent in the Indian-inky sky, that showed the
narrowing portals of the Golden Gate beyond, revealed, as unexpectedly,
the destination of the little craft, a tall ship that hitherto lay
hidden in the mist of the Saucelito shore. As the distance lessened
between boat and ship, they were again lost in the downward swoop of
another squall. When it lifted, the ship was creeping under the headland
towards the open sea, but the boat was gone. Mrs. Tucker in vain rubbed
the pane with her handkerchief; it had vanished. Meanwhile the ship,
as she neared the Gate, drew out from the protecting headland, stood
outlined for a moment with spars and canvas hearsed in black against
the lurid rent in the horizon, and then seemed to sink slowly into the
heaving obscurity beyond. A sudden onset of rain against the windows
obliterated the remaining prospect; the entrance of a servant completed
the diversion.

"Captain Poindexter, ma'am!"

Mrs. Tucker lifted her pretty eyebrows interrogatively. Captain
Poindexter was a legal friend of her husband, and had dined there
frequently; nevertheless she asked: "Did you tell him Mr. Tucker was not
at home?"

"Yes, 'm."

"Did he ask for ME?"

"Yes, 'm."

"Tell him I'll be down directly."

Mrs. Tucker's quiet face did not betray the fact that this second
visitor was even less interesting than the first. In her heart she did
not like Captain Poindexter. With a clever woman's instinct she had
early detected the fact that he had a superior, stronger nature than
her husband; as a loyal wife, she secretly resented the occasional
unconscious exhibition of this fact on the part of his intimate friend
in their familiar intercourse. Added to this slight jealousy, there was
a certain moral antagonism between herself and the captain which none
but themselves knew. They were both philosophers, but Mrs. Tucker's
serene and languid optimism would not tolerate the compassionate and
kind-hearted pessimisms of the lawyer. "Knowing what Jack Poindexter
does of human nature," her husband had once said, "it's mighty fine i