gentleman’s wife; and she altogether hated the grumpy gentleman’s daughter, who was the partner of her berth. That young lady had been very sick and very selfish; and Miss Viner had been very sick also, and perhaps equally selfish. They might have been angels, and yet have hated each other under such circumstances. It was no wonder that Mr. Forrest thought her ugly as she twisted herself about on the broad bench, vainly striving to be comfortable.

‘She’ll brighten up wonderfully before we’re in the tropics,’ said Mr. Morris. ‘And you won’t find her so bad then. It’s she that is to sit next you.’

‘Heaven forbid!’ said Forrest. But, nevertheless, he was very civil to her when she did come down on the fourth morning. On board the West Indian Packets, the world goes down to its meals. In crossing between Liverpool and the States, the world goes up to them.

Miss Viner was by no means a very young lady. She also was nearly thirty. In guessing her age on board the ship the ladies said that she was thirty-six, but the ladies were wrong. She was an Irish woman, and when seen on shore, in her natural state, and with all her wits about her, was by no means without attraction. She was bright-eyed, with a clear dark skin, and good teeth; her hair was of a dark brown and glossy, and there was a touch of feeling and also of humour about her mouth, which would have saved her from Mr. Forrest’s ill-considered criticism, had he first met her under more favourable circumstances.

‘You’ll see a good deal of her,’ Mr. Morris said to him, as they began to prepare themselves for luncheon, by a cigar immediately after breakfast. ‘She’s going across the Isthmus and down to Peru.’

‘How on earth do you know?’

I pretty well know where they’re all going by this time. Old Grumpy told me so. He has her in tow as far as St. Thomas, but knows nothing about her. He gives her up there to the captain. You’ll have a chance of making yourself very agreeable as you run across with her to the Spanish main.’

Mr. Forrest replied that he did not suppose he should know her much better than he did now; but he made no further remark as to her ugliness. She had spoken a word or two to him at table, and he had seen that her eyes were bright, and had found that her tone was sweet.

‘I also am going to Panama,’ he said to her, on the morning of the fifth day. The weather at that time was very fine, and the October sun as it shone on them, while hour by hour they made more towards the South, was pleasant and genial. The big ship lay almost without motion on the bosom of the Atlantic, as she was driven through the waters at the rate of twelve miles per hour. All was as pleasant now as things can be on board a ship, and Forrest had forgotten that Miss Viner had seemed so ugly to him when he first saw her. At this moment, as he spoke to her, they were running through the Azores, and he had been assisting her with his field-glass to look for orange-groves on their sloping shores, orange- groves they had not succeeded in seeing, but their failure had not disturbed their peace.

‘I also am going to Panama.’

‘Are you, indeed?’ said she. ‘Then I shall not feel so terribly alone and disconsolate. I have been looking forward with such fear to that journey on from St. Thomas.’

‘You shall not be disconsolate, if I can help it,’ he said. ‘I am not much of a traveller myself, but what I can do I will.’

‘Oh, thank you!’

‘It is a pity Mr. Morris is not going on with you. He’s at home everywhere, and knows the way across the Isthmus as well as he does down Regent Street.’

‘Your friend, you mean?’