hom she idolized. At first Christine hesitated about wearing
black on the journey, but she soon learned that it increased her charms,
and that it gave protection from annoyance. Many supposed she was a young
widow. So thought a handsome naval officer whom she had met in London.
When Christine returned to her room, she found that a messenger boy had
brought her his card, with compliments, and a request that she occupy a
seat at his table for the voyage. With a black jacket on her arm,
Christine was conducted to her seat at dinner by the chief steward. She
wore a plain black skirt and waist of black and white, with black belt
and jet buckle.

An up-to-date liner is a sumptuous hotel afloat. The safety, speed, and
comfort of the modern steamer does not destroy but rather enhances the
romance of ocean voyage. The handsome young officer and pretty Christine,
as they promenaded the decks, added effect to the passing show. Her
mourning costume gradually yielded to outing suits of violet tints with
white collar and cuffs, and a simple black sailor's cap with white cord
for band.

Artist that Christine was, and lover of the ocean, she and the officer
watched the sea change from a transient green to a light blue and back
again, then to a deep blue when the sun was hidden in a cloud, then, when
the fogs were encountered, to a cold grey.

Christine took great interest in the easy navigation of the steamer; she
watched the officers take observations, and verify the ship's run.
Frequently she was seen with the young officer on the bridge, he pointing
out the lighthouse on the dangerous Scilly Islands, the last sight of old
England off Land's End, she enjoying the long swell and white crested
billows, as the shelter of the British coast was left behind.

A charming first night aboard ship it was, the moon full, the sky
picturesque, the sea dark, except where the steamer and her screws
churned it white; at the bow, showers and spray of phosphorus, and
at the stern, rippling eddies and a long path of phosphorus and white
foam.

Christine wished she could transfer to canvas the swift steamer, as she
felt it in her soul, powerful as a giant and graceful as a woman; at the
mast-head an electric star, red and green lights on either side, long rows
of tremulous bulbs of light from numerous portholes; the officers on the
bridge with night glass in hand, walking to and fro, dark figures of
sailors at the bow and in the crow's nest, all ey