t down on Margaret's other side.

CHAPTER III

The _Leofric_ was three days out, and therefore half-way over the
ocean, for she was a fast boat, but so far Griggs had not been called
upon to hinder Mr. Van Torp from annoying Margaret. Mr. Van Torp had
not been on deck; in fact, he had not been seen at all since he had
disappeared into his cabin a quarter of an hour before the steamer had
left the pier. There was a good deal of curiosity about him amongst
the passengers, as there would have been about the famous Primadonna
if she had not come punctually to every meal, and if she had not been
equally regular in spending a certain number of hours on deck every
day.

At first every one was anxious to have what people call a 'good look'
at her, because all the usual legends were already repeated about her
wherever she went. It was said that she was really an ugly woman of
thirty-five who had been married to a Spanish count of twice that
age, and that he had died leaving her penniless, so that she had been
obliged to support herself by singing. Others were equally sure that
she was a beautiful escaped nun, who had been forced to take the veil
in a convent in Seville by cruel parents, but who had succeeded in
getting herself carried off by a Polish nobleman disguised as a
priest. Every one remembered the marvellous voice that used to sing so
high above all the other nuns, behind the lattice on Sunday afternoons
at the church of the Dominican Convent. That had been the voice of
Margarita da Cordova, and she could never go back to Spain, for if she
did the Inquisition would seize upon her, and she would be tortured
and probably burnt alive to encourage the other nuns.

This was very romantic, but unfortunately there was a man who said he
knew the plain truth about her, and that she was just a good-looking
Irish girl whose father used to play the flute at a theatre in Dublin,
and whose mother kept a sweetshop in Queen Street. The man who knew
this had often seen the shop, which was conclusive.

Margaret showed herself daily and the myths lost value, for every
one saw that she was neither an escaped Spanish nun nor the gifted
offspring of a Dublin flute-player and a female retailer of
bull's-eyes and butterscotch, but just a handsome, healthy,
well-brought-up young Englishwoman, who called herself Miss Donne in
private life.

But gossip, finding no hold upon her, turned and rent Mr. Van Torp,
who dwelt within his t