to the sea and was silent.
"It is not in me," she repeated after a while. "I have but one
feeling, and that is for my boy. It is growing on me absurdly, too."
She laughed nervously. "I used to be conscious of other people in the
world, but now, if I see a boy or man, I see only what George was or
will be at his age; if I read a book, it only suggests what George will
say of it. I am like one of those plants that have lost their own sap
and color, and suck in their life from another. It scares me
sometimes."

Miss Vance smiled with polite contempt. No doubt Frances had a shrewd
business faculty, but in other matters she was not ten years old.

"And George will marry some time," she said curtly.

"Oh, I hope so! And soon. Then I shall have a daughter. I know just
the kind of a wife George will choose," she chattered on eagerly. "I
understand him so thoroughly that I can understand her. But where
could he find her? He is so absurdly fastidious!"

Miss Vance was silent and thoughtful a moment. Then she came closer.
"I will tell you where to find her," she said, in a low voice. "I have
thought of it for a long time. It seems to me that Providence actually
made Lucy Dunbar for George."

"Really?" Mrs. Waldeaux drew her self up stiffly.

"Wait, Frances. Lucy has been with me for three years. I know her.
She is a sincere, modest, happy little thing. Not too clever. She is
an heiress, too. And her family is good; and all underground, which is
another advantage. You can mould her as you choose. She loves you
already."

"Or is it that she----?"

"You have no right to ask that!" said Miss Vance quickly.

"No, I am ashamed of myself." Mrs. Waldeaux reddened.

A group of girls came up the deck. Both women scanned the foremost one
critically. "I like that wholesome, candid look of her," said Miss
Vance.

"Oh, she is well enough," said Frances. "But I am sure George does not
like yellow hair. Nothing but an absolutely beautiful woman will
attract him."

"An artist," said Miss Vance hastily, "would tell you her features were
perfect. And her flesh tints----"

"For Heaven's sake, Clara, don't dissect the child. Who is that girl
with the red cravat? Your maid?"

"It is not a cravat, it's an Indian scarf. If it only were clean----"
Miss Vance looked uneasy and perplexed. "She is not my maid. She is
Fraulein Arpent. The Ewalts brought her as governess from Paris, don't
you remember? Th