a hat
that had made several voyages. Yet, if there was but little of the
sailor in his costume, his face suggested itself to me as a very good
example of the nautical life. His nose was scarcely more than a pimple
of a reddish tincture, and his small, moist, grey eyes lying deep in
their sockets seemed, as they gazed at you, to be boring their way
through the apertures which Nature had provided for the admission of
light. A short piece of white whisker decorated either cheek, and his
hair that was cropped close as a soldier's was also white.

"Is that your yacht, young gentleman?" said he, bringing his eyes from
Grace to me, at whom he had to stare up as at his masthead, so
considerably did I tower over the little man.

"Yes," said I, "she is the _Spitfire_--belongs to Southampton. I am
very much obliged to you for receiving this lady and me."

"Not at all," said he, looking hard at Grace; "your wife, sir?"

"No," said I, greatly embarrassed by the question, and by the gaze of
the ten or dozen passengers who hung near, eyeing us intently and
whispering, yet, for the most part, with no lack of sympathy and good
nature in their countenances. I saw Grace quickly bite upon her
under-lip, but without colouring or any other sign of confusion than a
slight turn of her head as though she viewed the yacht.

"But what have you done with the rest of your people, young gentleman?"
inquired the captain.

"My name is Barclay--Mr. Herbert Barclay: the name of the young lady to
whom I am engaged to be married," said I, significantly sending a look
along the faces of the listeners, "is Miss Grace Bellassys, whose aunt,
Lady Amelia Roscoe, you may probably have heard of."

This, I thought, was introduction enough. My business was to assert
our dignity first of all, and then as I was addressing a number of
persons who were either English or Colonial, or both, the pronunciation
of her ladyship's name was, I considered, a very early and essential
duty.

"With regard to my crew--" I continued, and I told the captain they had
made up their minds to carry the vessel home.

"Miss Bellassys looks very tired," exclaimed a middle-aged lady with
grey hair, speaking with a gentle, concerned smile, engaging with its
air of sympathetic apology, "if she will allow me to conduct her to my
cabin--"

"By all means, Mrs. Barstow," cried the captain. "If she has been
knocking about in that bit of a craft there through the gale that's
be