ved, and yet--she had deliberately made him hate her. Well,
anyhow, she liked the idea of her heart being as hard as the rocks in
Flodden Field. It had an important sound. He could never say that to the
gushing Mrs. Darlington, or any of the other women who ran around after
him.

So she closed the chapter of their acquaintance on the boat, but she
worked out a scene or two at Bermuda, including an aeroplane flight in
which he and she were lost in the clouds. On the whole she preferred the
things she made up to the things that happened.

As they neared the Islands the weather grew warmer. White clothes
appeared on deck. Captain O'Leary appeared in an undress uniform that
caused a flutter in feminine hearts. The night of the day of her
encounter with her hero was stuffy and very hot.

Isabelle was restless and wakeful. She tossed and turned and tried to
banish all thoughts of the Irishman, but it was no use. She leaned out
of her upper berth to gaze down upon the sleeping features of Miss
Watts.

"How wonderful to be so old that you don't care about handsome
Irishmen!" mused Isabelle.

A few minutes later she decided that, unless she had some air, she
would perish. She made a most careful descent from her perch, without
waking her companion. She opened the door cautiously, and put her head
out. It was a trifle cooler in the passageway. Her watch reported three
o'clock. There would be no one awake at that hour.

She put on her slippers, and the tight little orange-and-black Chinese
cloak. She left the door open, and went into the corridor. She walked up
and down, up and down, trying to believe that she was cooler. It was
rather spooky! Several stateroom doors stood open, and the sound of
sleepers--breathing evenly, or snoring--came to her as she passed.

Finally she turned in at her own door, slipped off the Chinese coat, and
laid it across the chair. She moved very quietly not to disturb Miss
Watts. She put her foot on the extreme edge of the lower berth to mount,
when the boat rolled and threw her off her balance. To save herself from
falling, she put out her hand; it descended upon the upturned face--it
should have been the face of Miss Watts, but it was not. Her hand fell
upon a moustache! With one bound Isabelle was out of the door, into the
passageway, and into the next open door.

"Miss Watts!" she gasped.

"Yes, what is it?"--sleepily.

"Oh, nothing. I went out to get a breath of air. I left the door op