htfully with the blooming maturity of her form--the man
must have been trebly armed indeed in the modern philosophy who could
have denied that the first of a woman's rights is the right of being
beautiful; and the foremost of a woman's merits, the merit of being
young!

The other two persons present at the table were the two gentlemen who
have already appeared on the deck of the yacht.

"Not a breath of wind stirring!" said Richard Turlington. "The weather
has got a grudge against us. We have drifted about four or five miles in
the last eight-and-forty hours. You will never take another cruise with
me--you must be longing to get on shore."

He addressed himself to Natalie; plainly eager to make himself agreeable
to the young lady--and plainly unsuccessful in producing any impression
on her. She made a civil answer; and looked at her tea-cup, instead of
looking at Richard Turlington.

"You might fancy yourself on shore at this moment," said Launce. "The
vessel is as steady as a house, and the swing-table we are eating our
breakfast on is as even as your dining-room table at home."

He too addressed himself to Natalie, but without betraying the anxiety
to please her which had been shown by the other. For all that, _he_
diverted the girl's attention from her tea-cup; and _his_ idea instantly
awakened a responsive idea in Natalie's mind.

"It will be so strange on shore," she said, "to find myself in a room
that never turns on one side, and to sit at a table that never tilts
down to my knees at one time, or rises up to my chin at another. How I
shall miss the wash of the water at my ear, and the ring of the bell
on deck when I am awake at night on land! No interest there in how the
wind blows, or how the sails are set. No asking your way of the sun,
when you are lost, with a little brass instrument and a morsel of pencil
and paper. No delightful wandering wherever the wind takes you, without
the worry of planning beforehand where you are to go. Oh how I shall
miss the dear, changeable, inconstant sea! And how sorry I am I'm not a
man and a sailor!"

This to the guest admitted on board on sufferance, and not one word of
it addressed, even by chance, to the owner of the yacht!

Richard Turlington's heavy eyebrows contracted with an unmistakable
expression of pain.

"If this calm weather holds," he went on, addressing himself to Sir
Joseph, "I am afraid, Graybrooke, I shall not be able to bring you back
to the port