edly on malice. She had it in her power to make him miserable and
unhappy. She would enjoy seeing him unhappy!

The meanness of the woman who longs to injure the man who loves her,
whether loved or unloved, revealed itself for the moment in this
fair-minded, generous girl. (It is a common trait, admitted by many
fair-minded and generous women!) But even as she coddled and encouraged
the little sprout of vengeance, the chill of common-sense rushed up and
blighted it.

She had a sickening impression that Percival would fail to play the
part according to her conception. In fact, he was quite capable of
not playing it at all. He would pursue the even tenor of his way--(she
actually made use of the time-honoured phrase in her reflections),--and
she would get small satisfaction out of that.

Moreover, there was Olga Obosky to be reckoned with. She was conscious
of a hot, swiftly passing sense of suffocation as the thought of Olga
rushed unbidden into her brain,--for an instant only,--and then came the
reaction: a queer chill that raced over her body from head to foot. What
part would Olga Obosky play in the game?

The women congregated on the forward deck of the Doraine after supper
that night. The evening repast was no longer dignified by the word
dinner. The sky was inky black; not a star flickered in the vault above.
There were low, far off mutterings of thunder. The rail lanterns,--few
and far between,--threw their pallid beams down into the rippling basin
in a sickly effort to penetrate the gloom.

Captain Trigger and Mr. Mott, smoking their pipes on the makeshift
bridge, studied the throng of women in dour silence.

"I understand the farmers are praying for rain," remarked Mr. Mott,
sniffing the air with considerable satisfaction.

"It would do no end of good," said Captain Trigger, without taking his
eyes from the chattering mass below.

Mr. Codge, the purser, joined them.

"What are they waiting for?" he asked. "Why don't they call the meeting
to order?"

"They did that half an hour ago," said Mr. Mott. "Good Lord, man, can't
you hear them talking? Have you no ears at all?"

"But they're all talking at once."

"And why shouldn't they?" demanded the First Officer. "It's their
meeting, isn't it?"

"I met Miss Clinton as I was coming up. She was going to her room.
I asked her how the meeting was getting along. I don't believe she
understood me, because all she said was 'good-night.'"

"I guess she under