he betrayed his subjugation. No woman had ever
received such honour from him, such homage public and private. Arnold
Jacks was pricked with uneasiness; Irene had at once a new value in his
eyes, and he feared he had foolishly neglected his opportunities. If
she married Romaine, it would be mortifying. She refused the great
man's offer, and Arnold was at first astonished, then gratified. For
such refusal there could be only one ground: Miss Derwent's "heart" was
already disposed of. Women have "hearts"; they really do grow fond of
the men they admire; a singular provision of nature.

He would propose during the voyage.

But the voyage was nearly over; he might have put his formal little
question fifty times; it was still to be asked--and he felt afraid.
Afraid more than ever, now that he had committed himself with Dr.
Derwent. The Doctor had received his confession so calmly, whereas
Arnold hoped for some degree of effusiveness. Was he--hideous
doubt--preparing himself for an even worse disillusion?

Undoubtedly the people on board had remarked his attentions; for all he
knew, jokes were being passed, nay, bets being made. It was a serious
thing to proclaim oneself the wooer of a young lady who had refused
Trafford Romaine; who was known to have done so, and talked about with
envy, admiration, curiosity. You either carried her off, or you made
yourself fatally ridiculous. Half a dozen of the passengers would
spread this gossip far and wide through England. There was that
problematic Mrs. Borisoff, a frisky grass widow, who seemed to know
crowds of distinguished people, and who was watching him day by day
with her confounded smile! Who could say what passed between her and
Irene, intimates as they had become? Did they make fun of him? Did they
_dare_ to?

Arnold Jacks differed widely from the common type of fatuous young man.
He was himself a merciless critic of fatuity; he had a faculty of
shrewd observation, plenty of caustic common sense. Yet the position
into which he had drifted threatened him with ridiculous extremes of
self-consciousness. Even in his personal carriage, he was not quite
safe against ridicule; and he felt it. This must come to an end.

He sought his moment, and found it at the hour of dusk. The sun had
gone down gloriously upon a calm sea; the sky was overspread with
clouds still flushed, and the pleasant coolness of the air foretold
to-morrow's breeze on the English Channel. With pretence of wa