Mrs. Shuster; and
yesterday she made up an exploring party for the steerage, so as to open
communications with the desired protege. The first officer had promised
to take her, and she asked me to join them. I happened to be talking to
Patsey Moore at the time, and saw by the way her eyes lighted that she
was dying to go, too. So I got her included in the invitation.

It was a lovely calm day, the long level lines of the sea punctuated
with porpoises, dear things like giant commas. A good many of the
third-class passengers were writing letters on their knees, and the
_quaintest_ paper. Among these was the Man of Mystery; and Mrs. Shuster
sailed up to him, billowing out in the breeze of her own enthusiasm.

"We've all heard of you," she said. "And the splendid things you did on
the _Arabic_."

Actually the man blushed! He rose up politely; and as he is very tall
and straight, rather thin, and extremely dark, he reminded me of a cedar
towering beside one of those squat Dutch trees cut into the shape of
some domestic animal.

"I really did nothing," he protested, with that guilty redness spreading
over his olive face, and making him more mysterious than ever. _Because
he had the air of being found out in something._ And the blush began
before Mrs. Shuster got as far as mentioning the _Arabic_. It was more
as if he were afraid she had met him before and recognized him.

"Well, other people are better judges of that than yourself," the dear
lady contradicted him. "I, and a lot more first-class passengers, feel
it's a shame you should be here. We want you to be up with _us_ and--and
telling us all about your adventures. The favour wouldn't be from us to
you, but the other way round, if you accepted the price of a cabin.
We're sure you're a gentleman----"

At that it was Patsey's and my turn to blush! It was such an awful thing
to say to the man, though the poor woman meant so blunderingly well. P.
and I were in the background--an easy place to be, because there's so
much of Mrs. Shuster. We weren't even a chorus, because we hadn't made a
sound or a gesture, and didn't intend to make one. But the colour effect
was unrehearsed and unavoidable. I felt a regular blush of red to the
head, as I used to say when I was small, and Pat grew scarlet as if
she'd been suddenly slapped. I expected to see the forked lightning of
scorn dart from those immense dark eyes of Storm's: but instead they
crinkled up in an engaging smile. One g