oking infantry
captain--that she would endeavour to eat something. "Every one says it
is so much better," reiterated he.

"But I am not hungry," said the baby, with most interesting _naivete_.

"Try a _rawst_ potato, ma'am," said the captain, in his broad accent.
"There's many a one will eat a _rawst_ potato who can't care for anything
else."

The bride made a little _moue_, and shook her head, then admitted that
she fancied a piece of raspberry tart, though the captain protested that
if she would eat anything so injudicious, a gentle nip of whisky would be
advisable to correct it.

Captain Butler, the happy bridegroom, was evidently still in the adoring
stage, so he listened complacently to his wife's silly badinage with the
skipper, whom she informed, apparently for the information of the
company, that she was just nineteen, but winced a little at her further
admission that they had only been married a week.

A slight but monotonous roll and general chilliness, seemed to portend
they were getting into a more open sea, and, as the motion increased, the
saloon began to thin a little. The bride's prattle deepened into moanings
and complaints; she was laid on the sofa, covered with shawls, and
supplied with sal-volatile and smelling-bottles by her devoted spouse,
who began to look deadly pale himself.

Mr. Dutton, Bluebell's neighbour, had gone for a smoke with the skipper.
Mrs. Oliphant was also an absentee; she had tottered from the saloon the
instant the wind freshened, with a contortion of countenance that
betokened her dallyings with the _vol-au-vent_ would be severely visited.
Mrs. Rideout, the lady of position, went off on the arm of her maid, who
had not yet succumbed.

Bluebell, determined to resist the whirling in her head, took out some
work on which she tried to fix her attention. The elderly widow was
looking over a missionary book with woodcuts, and they occasionally
exchanged sentences.

The discomposing rocking of the vessel continued, and the moan of the
winds mingled with the incessant complaints of Mrs. Butler on a distant
sofa, who was as communicative respecting her anguish as her age.

Tea and the return of some of the gentlemen a little relieved the
monotony. Bluebell was languidly experimenting on a piece of dry toast,
when the loud crying of a child attracted her attention, and, the steward
leaving the door open, a little girl of four plunged in. She recognised
her as one of the childre