w on the darkened waves, sending out wistful, timorous thoughts
toward that meeting which was growing momentarily nearer. "Jim!"

CHAPTER TWENTY.

During the second day at sea, chance arranged the introduction which
Katrine had coveted with the consumptive artist, Vernon Keith. The
breeze had freshened, and wrapped in a light cloak she was sitting on
her chair in a sheltered corner, when a sudden gust lifted her scarf and
magazine, and blew them along the deck. Involuntarily she groped in
pursuit, and in so doing overbalanced and alighted in a heap, the chair,
after the manner of its kind, doubling up, and following suit. It all
happened with such startling unexpectedness, that for a moment Katrine
sat panting and breathless, making no effort to rise. Flushed,
bare-headed, white-robed, she made a charming picture, and more than one
of the surrounding men dashed forward to her help, but before any one
could reach her side, Vernon Keith had seized the chair, twisted it
deftly into position, and held out a helping hand.

"I hope you are not hurt!"

"I--I really don't know," Katrine sat down, laid her head against the
back of the chair, and smiled in vague, strained fashion. She stretched
herself cautiously, and gradually regained composure. "No! I'm sure I
am not. But it was startling..." She blushed a little beneath the
watching eyes. "I--I had a book!"

"It is here," he said, and placed it on her knee. "Is there anything I
can get for you? I am sure you have had a shock. Some wine?"

"Oh, no." The suggestion brought back the remembrance of Mrs
Mannering's hint, and awoke a determination to take advantage of the
present opportunity. "I shall be quite all right, if I talk about
something else, and forget myself!"

The invitation was obvious, the diffidence of the accompanying smile
delightfully naive and girl-like. Vernon Keith seated himself with
obvious alacrity. Seen close at hand he looked older, more worn; there
were lines about his mouth with which country-bred Katrine was
unfamiliar, the irises of his eyes were faintly bloodshot. For all her
inexperience she recognised that these symptoms were not the result of
ill-health alone.

They talked for an hour, a pleasant, inconsequent talk, flitting from
one subject to another; books, pictures, theatres, travel, and when they
parted at the sound of the luncheon gong, he stood before her, gaunt and
tall, and said gravely:

"Thank you for t