you ought to
put something around you," he said irritably.

"I'm not very cold. Besides, I don't want to go in. I don't want them to
make me sing any more. Mother'll be awfully provoked if I take cold,
though. Do you think it's too damp?"

"There's my overcoat," said the man, indifferently; "you can put that
around you if you want to."

She struggled into the large sleeves, and he made no effort to help her.

"You don't like music, do you?" she asked naively as she settled back in
her chair.

"Well, yes," he said slowly. "I should say the thing I dislike least in
the world is music."

"Then why didn't you come in to hear me play?" asked Guinevere,
emboldened by the darkness.

"Oh, I could hear it outside," he assured her; "besides, I have a pair
of defective lamps in my head. The electric lights hurt my eyes."

He struck a match as he spoke to relight his pipe, and by its flare she
caught her first glimpse of his face, a long, slender, sensitive face,
brooding and unhappy.

"I guess you are Mr. Hinton," she said as if to herself.

He turned with the lighted match in his hand. "How did you know that?"

"The captain told me. He pointed out you and Mr. Mathews, but he didn't
tell me any of the rest."

"A branch of your education that can afford to remain neglected," said
Mr. Hinton as he puffed at his pipe.

The door of the saloon swung open, and the chubby gentleman appeared in
the light, shading his eyes, and calling out that they were all waiting
for the little canary-bird.

"I don't want to go," whispered Guinevere, shrinking back into the
shadow.

The chubby gentleman peered up and down the deck, then, assailed by a
gust of wind, beat a hasty retreat.

"I don't like him," announced Guinevere, drawing a breath of relief. "It
isn't just because he's fat and ugly; it's the silly way he looks at
you."

"What a pity you can't tell him so!" said her companion, dryly. "Such
blasphemy might do him good. He is the scion of a distinguished family
made wealthy by the glorious sale of pork."

"Are all the gentlemen millionaires?" asked Guinevere in awe.

"Present company excepted," qualified Hinton.

"It'll seem awful small to them down in the Cove. Why, we haven't got
room enough at the two hotels to put them all up."

"Oh, you live there, do you?"

"Yes; I've just been up at Coreyville spending the night. I used to hate
it down at the Cove, it was so little and stupid; but I like it better
now."