BARONESS VON HUTTEN
 
 ARABY
 
 Araby.
 
 ARABY 
 
 BY 
 
 Baroness von Hutten 
 
 Illustrated by C. J. Budd 
 
 1904 
 
 The Smart Set Publishing Co. 
 New York London
 
 COPYRIGHTED 
 March, 1902, by 
 ESS ESS 
 PUBLISHING CO 
 
 COPYRIGHTED 
 1904, by 
 THE SMART SET 
 PUBLISHING CO 
 
 First Printing in 
 MA RC H
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGB 
 
 I. A MARMOSET . . . . .13 
 
 II. YELVERTON is REMEMBERED . 21 
 
 III. OF ARABY AND MRS. COPELAND. 33 
 
 IV. IN THE STEERAGE .... 43 
 V. "PADDY" 57 
 
 VI. Two ON DECK 71 
 
 VII. AT GIBRALTAR .... 85 
 
 VIII. MAL DE MER 97 
 
 IX. ROCK ISLAND CURIOSITY . . 109 
 
 X. ARABY ASKS A QUESTION . .119 
 
 XI. LOST LIBERTY .... 129 
 
 XII. CHAMPAGNE FOR ONE . . . 143 
 
 XIII. ADVICE TO JOE C 157 
 
 XIV. HIGH WORDS 173 
 
 XV. FOUNTAIN CONSULTED . . . 189 
 
 XVI. AND THE LAST . 203 
 
 2228507
 
 "As a weed 
 
 Flung from the rock, on ocean's foam to sail 
 Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath 
 
 prevail." 
 
 Byron.
 
 ILL US TRA TIONS 
 
 "Araby" - Frontispiece 
 
 <O/if Does it bite?'" - Page 23 
 
 " ' Then nothing matters,' she 
 said, putting her arms 
 around his neck." Page 81 
 
 Schimmelbusch . . . wore 
 a checked silk handker- 
 chief tucked coquettishly 
 in his waistcoat." Page 
 
 ' ' She was pale and fierce- 
 looking, as she sat hold- 
 ing Fluffy Daddies on 
 her lap" - Page 159 
 
 ' ' ' Once more I tell you to let 
 
 Y elver ton alone.'" - Page 185
 
 I 
 
 A MARMOSET 
 
 ., " A STRING. At one end of the string 
 Fluffy Daddies, at the other end Ar- 
 aby!" 
 
 T. H. Howard Bax-Drury looked 
 down his long nose and smiled. Mrs. 
 Copeland looked up her short nose 
 and smiled, too. What a difference 
 there is between one smile and an- 
 other ! Bax-Drury 's drew his thin, 
 rather well-cut lips neatly back over 
 a row of even white and gold teeth, 
 hardly deranging his heavy mustache. 
 Mrs. Copeland's smile was a flash, a 
 13
 
 glimpse, a pair of dimples, a shiver 
 of eyelids a thing over in a second, 
 but long to be remembered. 
 
 They stood leaning on the rail, 
 behind them Genoa, opalescent in a 
 sea-mist; before them the usual unin- 
 teresting crowd of fellow-passengers, 
 fellow-sufferers worst, fellow-feeders. 
 Coming by the Southern route had 
 been a freak of Mrs. Copeland, and a 
 minute before, as she viewed those 
 with whom she was to be thrown into 
 a certain amount of contact for the 
 next ten days, she had regretted it. 
 
 "That man with the duck compress 
 about his wrist is going to sit opposite 
 me," she had grumbled, "and he eats 
 with his knife."
 
 "Ever seen him before?" 
 
 "No; but he eats with his knife. 
 And there's a woman who makes waxy 
 gray pills of her bread, and leaves 
 the table and hasn't the grace to stay 
 away, but comes back pale bah!" 
 
 Then Bax-Drury had made the re- 
 mark about the string, Fluffy Daddies, 
 and Araby, and they both laughed. 
 
 Araby, for her part, looked as if 
 she never had laughed, never could 
 laugh. Her mouth was drawn into a 
 firm line, the corners deep cut; her 
 heavy, straight brows hid half her up- 
 per lids, her soft hat half her fore- 
 head. Fluffy Daddies sat by her, his 
 scarlet ribbon limp with the fog, his 
 hair out of curl. 
 
 15
 
 "Isn't she funny!" Mrs. Copeland 
 said, after a pause, during which a 
 fat woman in a sweater photographed 
 the harbor and the city with a six-by- 
 six kodak. 
 
 "Uncommon. What's the row this 
 morning?" 
 
 "You, me, Fountain, the Lord, 
 Fluffy Daddies in a word, toute la 
 boutique" 
 
 "I see! A bad day!" 
 
 "A bad day! Good heavens, Baxy, 
 look at that man ! What has he in 
 his pocket?" She broke off excitedly 
 and took a few steps forward, her 
 hand on his arm. 
 
 "Which man? The bounder in the 
 bowler?" 
 
 16
 
 "No, the big man oh, his hat's 
 overboard !" 
 
 She burst into a loud laugh of child- 
 ish glee, and kept on laughing with 
 the insouciance of the fashionably 
 vulgar, as the man in question turned 
 and looked at her. 
 
 The hat was gone, and the close- 
 cropped yellow hair, yellower than 
 one often sees on a man, looked very 
 striking, high up above the other 
 heads in their more or less conven- 
 tional coverings. 
 
 Bax-Drury watched with lazy amaze- 
 ment the approach of the hatless one, 
 and the leisurely contemplation by 
 him, through his gold-mounted single 
 glass, of Mrs. Copeland. 
 17
 
 arab? 
 
 "He's going to speak to me," she 
 whispered, a husky excitement in her 
 voice. 
 
 And he did. "It's only a mar- 
 moset," he said, stopping, and still 
 smiling. 
 
 ' ' Only a what ? Your hat ? " 
 
 "Oh, no; not my hat. That's a 
 rag by this time. What I have in my 
 pocket. I heard you ask." And put- 
 ting one hand in his pocket, he drew 
 out a wee, blinking monkey, which 
 he held out for Mrs. Copeland's in- 
 spection. 
 
 18
 
 "Journeys end in lovers meeting, 
 Every wise man's son doth know." 
 
 Shakespeare.
 
 ii 
 
 YELVERTON IS REMEMBERED 
 
 MRS. COPELAND laughed again, but 
 the faint pink in her cheek deepened 
 a little, as Bax-Drury noticed with 
 amusement. She was used to laugh- 
 ing when amused, and never modified 
 her mirth out of consideration for 
 her fellows; but she had never before 
 been met in quite this way. 
 
 The yellow-haired man was as much 
 at his ease as she, and stood holding 
 out the monkey with every appear- 
 ance of expecting her to take it. 
 
 "Oh! Does it bite?" 
 
 21
 
 "Not often. He is a vegetarian." 
 
 The monkey screwed up its face 
 and gave a sudden, comprehensive 
 shiver. 
 
 "He feels the fog. His name is 
 Joe C." 
 
 Mrs. Copeland put out one finger 
 and stroked Joe C.'s head, gingerly. 
 
 Bax-Drury watched. 
 
 "And mine," went on the yellow- 
 haired man, "is Yelverton. You seem 
 to have forgotten." 
 
 Mrs. Copeland started, and buried 
 her hands in the pockets of her ulster. 
 
 "Good gracious! did I know it?" 
 
 " Evidently not, Mrs. Copeland. But 
 how good-natured of you not to 
 snub me when I came up to you!" 
 
 22
 
 'Oh! Does it bite T
 
 Bax-Drury had known her for years, 
 but he had never before seen her utter- 
 ly at a loss. She blushed scarlet, bit 
 her lips, and then, with a helpless 
 laugh, owned up. 
 
 "I didn't know I'd ever seen you 
 before, but I thought if you could see 
 it through, I could and then there 
 was Mr. Bax-Drury." 
 
 Yelverton bowed to Bax-Drury, and 
 put the shivering Joe C. back in his 
 pocket. "It was going over the Bre- 
 men, two years ago. It snowed fear- 
 fully, and I got your luggage through 
 at Kiefstein. You were smuggling a 
 lot of old snuff-boxes." 
 
 "Oh, yes; of course I remember. 
 How kind you were ! And we ate a 
 25
 
 nasty veal-and-porky meal together 
 at some horrible place. I wonder," 
 she added, with a sudden change of 
 tone, "how I happened to forget 
 you?" 
 
 "Don't flatter, Allegra," Bax-Drury 
 put in. "It's a bad habit, and it 
 grows on you." 
 
 Yelverton laughed. "I had a beard 
 about two feet long then. I was com- 
 ing from the Caucasus. Also, I wore 
 glasses inflammation caused by the 
 glare on the road. Ever been to the 
 Caucasus?" He turned to the other 
 man. 
 
 "Yes, I've been most places." 
 
 "The snuff-boxes. Now what did I 
 
 do with those snuff-boxes?" mused 
 26
 
 Mrs. Copeland. "I remember showing 
 them to Anthony in Rome, and then 
 I'll be blessed if I can remember 
 what became Araby, what did I do 
 with my snuff-boxes?" 
 
 Araby, the frown, and Fluffy Dad- 
 dies crossed the deck. 
 "You gave 'em to the Duke." 
 "Oh, yes; so I did the Duke of 
 Tackleton," she explained to Yelver- 
 ton. "He's my husband's cousin 
 very nice, but quite mad. His wife 
 ran away from him because he made 
 such awful faces at her and insisted 
 on having garlic in all the dishes. 
 What did he give me in return, 
 Araby?" 
 
 Araby straightened her hat, thus 
 
 27
 
 revealing a strip of fine-grained, white 
 forehead. 
 
 "Two hundred and fifty." 
 
 Yelverton stared, while Bax-Drury 
 laughed. 
 
 "Two hundred oh, yes. I remember. 
 I bet with Lorrimer Bentley that the 
 Spaniards wouldn't get out of that 
 harbor where was it? And they did, 
 and I had only fifty, and owed that. 
 Let's go and get something to eat. 
 Araby, give Fluffy to Fountain and 
 tell her to make us some Bovril. Do 
 you like Bovril, Mr. Yelverton?" 
 
 "Bovril is my one vice. Will you 
 not present me to your friend?" 
 
 "My cousin, Miss Winship; Mr. Yel- 
 verton." 
 
 28
 
 Araby bowed sulkily, and picking up 
 the dog, strode down the deck. 
 
 Yelverton stood looking after her 
 for a few seconds, and then, putting 
 his big hand to his head, remembered 
 the loss of his hat. 
 
 "I must go and look up a cap of 
 some kind. May I join you in a few 
 moments?" 
 
 "Of course. We have the captain's 
 rooms on deck. Poor Araby has to 
 sleep on a sofa-bed as wide as a knife- 
 blade, and there's a bust of the Kai- 
 ser; but there is at least air. Just 
 look at that woman ! Baxy, did you 
 ever see such a figure in your life?"
 
 "A daughter of the gods, divinely tall, 
 And most divinely fair." 
 
 Tennyson.
 
 in 
 
 OF ARABY AND MRS. COPELAND 
 
 ARABY'S eyes, deep-set under the 
 heavy brows, were gray-blue, somber, 
 sullen, tiger eyes, with violet marks 
 under them. Her nose, straight and 
 short, had delicate, slim, transparent 
 nostrils, on one of which was a small 
 brown mole. Her mouth, full in the 
 middle and curved daintily, was inter- 
 esting, for it meant, or was going to 
 mean, much. Yelverton watched her 
 quietly while he flirted with Mrs. Cope- 
 land. He saw that she was very 
 33
 
 young, not more than nineteen; that 
 she considered herself a disagreeable 
 and bad-tempered person, and that 
 she was neither the one nor the other. 
 He noticed, with the keenness of men 
 of his stamp, the curve under the arm, 
 at an age when curves are rare, the 
 line from the hip to the knee, the 
 bend in the throat as she turned her 
 head. Meantime he learned that the 
 party was on its way to Newport, 
 where it was to be entertained by 
 Mrs. Knickerbocker Hare and shown 
 the international race from the deck 
 of the second largest yacht in the 
 world. Mr. Bax-Drury, Yelverton was 
 informed, had a pot of money on 
 the race, and Mrs. Copeland herself 
 34
 
 a few pounds. He learned that there 
 was a Mr. Copeland, but that he and 
 Mr. Bax-Drury didn't get on, and as 
 she couldn't get on without Baxy, 
 who was her oldest and dearest friend, 
 Mr. Copeland had stayed at home, 
 which was much the best place for 
 him. He learned that Araby was the 
 daughter of Mrs. Copeland's mother's 
 step-sister, and a very decent sort 
 not as bad as she looked. Araby had 
 no money, but she lived with Mrs. 
 Copeland, who would be a duchess 
 sooner or later, and it was to be 
 hoped that some title-loving Yankee 
 might marry her for the sake of the 
 connection. 
 
 Yelverton learned also that Mrs. 
 35
 
 Copeland loved pearls and hated dia- 
 monds; that she was crazy to taste 
 terrapin because it would be so like 
 eating a snake; that she liked sweet 
 champagne and adored sausage; that 
 Madame Lorraine, of Regent Street, 
 made her clothes, but that she never 
 paid for them, as the said Madame 
 Lorraine charged outrageously. He 
 learned that Mrs. Copeland was really 
 thirty-one; that she always told the 
 truth about her age, as she was proud 
 of looking four years younger than 
 she was; that she had stopped dyeing 
 her hair when it became so common; 
 that she went to Cowes every year; 
 that she hated hunting, and loved 
 
 china and small dogs ; that she flirted, 
 36
 
 atab? 
 
 and saw no earthly harm in it, as 
 she knew when to draw the line; that 
 she didn't believe in any church, but 
 said her prayers; that she had no 
 children; that she loved Tosti's love- 
 songs and the " Symphonic Pathe- 
 tique" ; and that, on the whole, there 
 were worse sorts in England. 
 
 Mrs. Copeland was most communi- 
 cative in her own way. The second 
 day out she even told him Bax-Drury's 
 life-history in her own way. Accord- 
 ing to her, Bax-Drury had loved for 
 years a cousin of her own, a Miss 
 Phyllis Cone. Phyllis flouted him, and 
 he sought the plain joys of friend- 
 ship with Mrs. Copeland, who loved 
 him devotedly. "Of course, people 
 37
 
 say that he is my lover, but he isn't; 
 and after all, it really matters so 
 little what people say, doesn't it?" 
 
 Yelverton agreed. It mattered par- 
 ticularly little to him what she might 
 say. 
 
 That afternoon he pumped Bax- 
 Drury about Araby. Bax-Drury let 
 him pump, and told next to nothing. 
 Araby had no mother, which was sad 
 a motherless girl was always to be 
 pitied; it was very lucky for her that 
 Mrs. Copeland liked her. Mrs. Cope- 
 land was very charming oh, yes, and 
 a very good sort. And would Yelver- 
 ton give him a light? And would he 
 have a whisky and soda? 
 
 Yelverton had a very fine profile 
 38
 
 and rather a disappointing full face. 
 Bax-Drury thought him stunning. 
 Yelverton thought Bax-Drury clever 
 and dull. 
 
 39
 
 " O love ! O fire ! once he drew 
 With one long kiss my whole soul through 
 My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew." 
 
 Tennyson.
 
 IV 
 
 IN THE STEERAGE 
 
 "WHY are you always so ?" Yel- 
 
 verton hesitated. 
 
 "So what?" 
 
 "So savage." 
 
 Araby, under the shadow of her 
 capuchin, laughed. He had not seen 
 her laugh before, and he drew a sharp 
 breath. 
 
 "Savage? Because I hate it all 
 everything." 
 
 "The whole bag of tricks?" 
 
 "The whole bag of tricks." 
 43
 
 arab? 
 
 Yelverton watched her a few mo- 
 ments in silence. They stood aft, look- 
 ing down at the steerage, where a man 
 had been singing " Marie, Marie!" in a 
 tenor worth listening to. It was half- 
 past eight and a clear night. Araby 
 wore a red silk blouse with an edging 
 of pink round the collar. Pink looked 
 Palais-Royal on Mrs. Copeland, Yel- 
 verton reflected, and barbarous on the 
 girl. She might, so far as personality 
 went, be a savage princess of some 
 southern island. 
 
 "Did you ever have a fan of eagle 
 feathers?" he asked, suddenly, as much 
 to his own surprise as to hers. 
 
 "Eagle feathers? No. Why?" 
 
 "I wondered. It would suit you. 
 44
 
 And pomegranate flowers in your hair. 
 Who taught you to wear your hair 
 in that loose knot?" 
 
 "No one. What queer things you 
 say." 
 
 He looked at her, somberly. "The 
 things I say are nothing to the things 
 I-feel." 
 
 Her face did not change. It was 
 curiously immobile for so young a face, 
 and yet Yelverton knew that it had 
 the power of infinite expression. 
 
 The man in the steerage was singing 
 again. He sat on a barrel, one knee 
 drawn up to support his guitar. His 
 dark face was thrown back in an 
 ecstasy of delight in his own voice. 
 
 "That fellow has a million dollars 
 45
 
 in his throat," said Schimmelbusch, a 
 poker-playing passenger who talked to 
 every one, as he passed by the two. 
 
 "Has he?" Araby questioned, unin- 
 terestedly. 
 
 "He's got a high C that Reszke 
 ain't got. Reszke's only a high bari- 
 tone, anyhow. That fellow's a tenor." 
 
 "You seem to know a lot about 
 most things," said Yelverton, rather 
 offensively. 
 
 " You bet yer life I know a lot about 
 singin'. I. run the Thalia Music Hall 
 in Milwaukee. That boy '11 be singin' 
 there next year, too." 
 
 Araby walked away without a word. 
 Schimmelbusch bored her. A few min- 
 utes later she said to Yelverton, "That 
 4 6
 
 little girl in the yellow blouse is his 
 wife." 
 
 "The singer's?" 
 
 "Yes. His name is Gaetano, and 
 hers is Carm. They are Sicilians." 
 
 "How do you know?" asked Yelver- 
 ton, surprised. 
 
 "I watch them, and I listen. I have 
 nothing better to do." 
 
 "You know Italian?" 
 
 "Yes. My nurse was an Italian; 
 she stayed with me until last year. 
 Allegra sent her away." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because she lied. As if that made 
 any difference! I loved her." 
 
 Yelverton laughed. "Is Mrs. Cope- 
 land such a stickler for the truth?" 
 47
 
 The girl looked up at him sharply. 
 "In other people, you mean? She 
 doesn't lie any more than the rest, 
 I suppose." 
 
 "No doubt. But you don't lie." 
 
 "No; because I'm not afraid of being 
 disagreeable. Do you lie? I mean 
 outside lies of honor?" 
 
 "Lies of honor?" 
 
 "Yes; lies about women. Every 
 man tells them, I have heard." 
 
 Yelverton was about to express his 
 amazement, when something happened 
 in the steerage. 
 
 The tenor was striking the opening 
 chords of another song; the girl of 
 whom Araby had spoken, conspicu- 
 ous in her yellow blouse, stood beside 
 4 8
 
 him, nodding her head in time to the 
 music and smiling. Suddenly, as the 
 man's lips parted to the first note, a 
 woman darted from the crowd. A 
 flash of light fell swiftly, a scream 
 rose above the music, and the girl 
 in the blouse staggered and sank till 
 the singer caught her. 
 
 For a little there was uproar. Wom- 
 en shrieked, men clamored wildly, the 
 crowd swayed to and fro. But soon 
 the wounded girl was carried away, 
 and the doctor was summoned to her, 
 while on the scene of the tragedy the 
 third officer held the would-be murder- 
 ess prisoner. Near by stood the sing- 
 er, staring blankly down on the slow- 
 spreading stain at his feet. 
 49
 
 The prisoner had held a shawl drawn 
 concealingly over her face. Now she 
 loosed it, and it dropped. 
 
 "Carolina! Thou!" cried the man 
 in horror. 
 
 "As I promised thee, Gaetano!" 
 she replied, coldly. 
 
 Her face, now clearly revealed, de- 
 clared its story of long suffering, of 
 sorrow beyond endurance, ending in 
 relentless hate. Now her emotion was 
 veiled by the apathy of achievement. 
 
 When the captain appeared and 
 questioned her she made no answer, 
 but stood silent, drooping. The cap- 
 tain addressed the singer and asked 
 the name of the woman. 
 
 "Carolina Sampestri, my wife!" 
 5
 
 A hush of interest fell on the crowd. 
 But now the woman spoke. The cap- 
 tain, unable to understand her Italian, 
 made a gesture of hopelessness, but 
 Araby, leaning over the rail, spoke 
 distinctly : 
 
 "If you wish, I will translate to 
 you." 
 
 The captain nodded, and Araby con- 
 tinued : 
 
 "They stole her money the wife's 
 money and ran away together with 
 it. The girl was his mistress. The 
 wife wanted to kill her; she hopes she 
 has. She says nothing more." 
 
 The captain gave courteous thanks 
 to Araby, and went away. Immedi- 
 ately the prisoner was removed, and 
 51
 
 the hum of many voices sounded once 
 more. 
 
 "I hope she's dead!" said Araby, 
 readjusting her capuchin and staring 
 sullenly at the people who had come 
 up behind her. " Women are such 
 beasts!" 
 
 Yelverton the impression of her be- 
 ing a savage princess lost in the wilds 
 of civilization stronger than ever on 
 him drew her hand through his arm 
 and led her away. 
 
 "You think she did right in trying 
 to kill her rival?" 
 
 "Right? No, I suppose not. But 
 I'm glad she did it." 
 
 "Would you do it?" 
 
 Something in his voice startled her, 
 52
 
 and she turned away. "Yes," she 
 said, after a pause; "only, I should 
 have to care a lot first." 
 
 "You could care a lot. Most women 
 can't, but you could." 
 
 She turned and looked at him. 
 
 The crowd was still aft; no one was 
 in sight. Yelverton took the girl in 
 his arms and kissed her.
 
 "But love is blind, and lovers cannot see 
 The pretty follies that themselves commit." 
 
 Shakespeare.
 
 v 
 
 " PADDY" 
 
 "JusT look at Araby, Bax. What 
 can be the matter with her?" 
 
 Mrs. Copeland set her lemonade 
 glass down beside her and took up 
 her embroidery. Her maid was very 
 clever at embroidery, and a strip of 
 needlework is pleasing to men, even 
 if the work is done behind the scenes. 
 Bax-Drury looked down the deck. 
 The matter with her?" 
 "Why, yes; she's laughing." 
 There was no doubt that Araby was 
 57
 
 laughing, and what was more, she 
 was laughing with Schimmelbusch, to 
 whom she had been systematically rude 
 ever since they sailed, four days ago. 
 Schimmelbusch 's offensively good-na- 
 tured face was red with surprised 
 pleasure. He was one of the men who 
 look as if they were built of balls of 
 dough, each ball melting shapelessly 
 into the next. He used a toothpick 
 mounted in gold ; he cleared his throat ; 
 he smoked German cigars. Yet there 
 stood Araby, smiling into his eyes, 
 her cheeks pink, apparently with the 
 pleasure of the interview. 
 
 "I have often thought her a little 
 touched, and now I am sure of it," 
 observed Bax-Drury, jerking his deer- 
 58
 
 skin pillow to the small of his back. 
 "She looks very pretty this morn- 
 ing insanity and Schimmelbusch evi- 
 dently agree with her." 
 
 "Arabyisnot pretty," returned Mrs. 
 Copeland, "but I sometimes think she 
 is going to be a beauty. She has fea- 
 tures, Baxy, and features are nearly 
 extinct these days." 
 
 "There's an idea, now!" 
 
 "It's true. You have a nose, but 
 well " she burst out laughing "it's 
 hardly a feature. Don't be hurt, but 
 it's more like a limb." 
 
 Bax-Drury laughed, lazily. "You 
 are unpleasant this morning, Allegra. 
 Well, about your own nose, for in- 
 stance?" 
 
 59
 
 Mrs. Copeland shook her head and 
 laid down her work, in which she had 
 been pricking holes with an unthreaded 
 needle. "My nose is a mere mistake, 
 not to be considered. I am pretty, 
 but, as I say, Araby may turn out a 
 beauty." 
 
 "A beauty in disguise." 
 
 "You can't see it because she dis- 
 likes you, but it's true. And really, 
 Baxy, you oughtn't to be so hard on 
 her. It's her idea of loyalty disliking 
 you. She was always fond of Anthony." 
 
 Bax-Drury yawned. "So am I fond 
 of Anthony, but that doesn't make me 
 dislike Araby." 
 
 "All of which is beside the question. 
 
 And to go back to our ba-ba's, Araby 
 60
 
 is evidently flirting madly with poor 
 Schimmelbusch. There are hopes for 
 her yet. No woman can get on now- 
 adays without knowing how to flirt, 
 and up to this she has looked at men 
 exactly as if they were trees or 
 women." 
 
 Araby certainly was treating Schim- 
 melbusch to a series of glances like 
 anything rather than those bestowed 
 by one woman on another. She wore 
 a white duck blouse, with a leather 
 belt and a red silk cravat. Her cheeks 
 were pink, her lips mobile, as she 
 talked to the obviously bewildered 
 Teuton-American. 
 
 Two youths, both of whom had 
 
 made pleasant tentatives and been 
 61
 
 ruthlessly snubbed, stared frankly as 
 they passed. The fat woman, on her 
 perennial prowl with the kodak, hesi- 
 tated, aimed her weapon, and then, 
 mindful of earlier witherings, with- 
 drew noiselessly on her round-soled 
 feet. 
 
 It was eleven o'clock, and the deck 
 was full of horizontal mortals, enjoy- 
 ing the lethargy induced by lemonade 
 and cheese sandwiches. A girl from 
 Harbor Beach, Michigan, and an aged- 
 looking boy from Elizabeth were play- 
 ing shuffle-board to the strains of 
 "The Stars and Stripes Forever," done 
 into German by the band. A girl 
 with a common-sense figure sang as 
 
 she walked up and down. 
 62
 
 As the march ended with a crash 
 and a belated high note from the 
 singer, Yelverton came out of the cabin, 
 his rug over his arm. He turned to the 
 left, bowing perfunctorily to several 
 people, one of whom was Araby, then 
 drew a chair up beside Mrs. Cope- 
 land. 
 
 " Welcome, little stranger!" said the 
 lady, holding up a small white hand. 
 Yelverton kissed the hand, a practice 
 of his since she once lamented, in his 
 hearing, the neglect of that charming 
 custom in England. 
 
 "I dreamed of you last night," he 
 said, "but I sha'n't tell you the dream 
 before Mr. Bax-Drury. I am afraid 
 he might tell your husband." 
 63
 
 "Cheeky beggar!" returned Bax- 
 Drury, laughing. " I'll clear out. Either 
 of you like a cocktail?" 
 
 Mrs. Copeland ordered two, and set- 
 tled back in her chair with a little 
 wriggle of contentment. 
 
 "I'll take off my cap, that you may 
 enjoy my curls," Yelverton went on, 
 reaching for Bax-Drury's pillow. " Turn 
 this way, so I can see both of your 
 eyes at once." 
 
 She turned. "You are a cheeky beg- 
 gar, as Baxy says. Are you going to 
 make love to me?" 
 
 "J am, as soon as I've had a cock- 
 tail Baxy having been so obliging as 
 to clear out." 
 
 "I wonder whether you could make 
 6 4
 
 arab? 
 
 love? I mean, not to me, but seri- 
 ously." 
 
 Yelverton had reason to think he 
 could, and said so. 
 
 "How old are you? And what is 
 your first name?" 
 
 "I am thirty-six, and my sponsors 
 in baptism named me Patrick." 
 
 The steward brought the cocktails, 
 and they drank them leisurely. 
 
 "Then I suppose your friends call 
 you Pat?" 
 
 "Pat." 
 
 "I shall call you Paddy. Do you 
 mind ? I have names for all the people 
 I like all the dear, sympathetic souls, 
 you know." 
 
 It was not the first time he had been 
 65
 
 dubbed Paddy, but he said nothing 
 of this. The beauties of silence were 
 understood by him. 
 
 "Well, then, Paddy you may make 
 love to me." 
 
 And Yelverton made love to her 
 the love that is made under the cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 Schimmelbusch meantime passed with 
 Araby, but Yelverton 's eyes were fixed 
 on his empty glass, and he did not 
 look up. 
 
 "Araby is having a fine flirtation 
 this morning," Mrs. Copeland said, 
 laughing softly. 
 
 "Surely you don't grudge her that?" 
 
 "My dear man, I never grudge any- 
 body anything. I only wonder at her 
 66
 
 choice. The admirable Schimmelbusch's 
 charms are not obvious to Allegra's 
 little eye." 
 
 "Allegra's little eye will please fix 
 itself on my charms. As I was say- 
 ing " 
 
 And the love-making went on. 
 
 67
 
 1 The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind, 
 A savageness in unreclaimed blood." 
 
 Shakespeare.
 
 VI 
 
 TWO ON DECK 
 
 YELVERTON was determined not to 
 make an ass of himself. His self-con- 
 trol was as strong as his passions, 
 a combination rare in man, and when 
 added to a certain amount of charm, 
 nearly irresistible to women of deep 
 feeling. 
 
 Allegra Copeland found no man ir- 
 resistible, because in her there was 
 neither strength of will nor strength 
 of passion, and hence no answering 
 chords. She could be mulish, but mul- 
 7 1
 
 ishness is not strength, as everyone 
 knows except the mulish. A four-legged 
 mule plants his feet firmly and lowers 
 his ears and refuses to budge, because 
 it lies in him sd to do. Even the most 
 optimistic of animal lovers, so insis- 
 tent in the life of to-day, can hardly 
 assert that a mule has a logical reason 
 for balking. And thus with the great 
 run of biped mules. Anthony Cope- 
 land had in old days tried to content 
 his wife, but soon gave it up and re- 
 turned into indifference and Sussex, 
 where he delivered himself to the study 
 of entomology. Scientist as he was, 
 he knew the world and saved himself 
 much utterly useless worry by realiz- 
 ing that that world, so limited of 
 72
 
 late years, would forgive much more 
 than T. H. Howard Bax-Drury to the 
 future Duchess of Tackleton. 
 
 Yelverton, bent on not being an ass, 
 called together all the strength he had 
 and made love to the charming mule. 
 
 And Araby raged. Yelverton had 
 read her aright. He knew that it 
 would have been impossible for a man 
 of his character and experience to fall 
 in love with a woman lacking passion. 
 He had fallen in love with Araby's 
 sullen, dark face the day he first saw 
 her; and he knew that Araby was ca- 
 pable of the strong feelings he loved. 
 She could hate, she could love; doubt- 
 less she could go to the savage length 
 of loving and hating the same man 
 73
 
 at the same time. Yet Yelverton 
 flirted with Mrs. Copeland, and knew, 
 without looking up, every time the girl 
 came near him. 
 
 He held out all day. Then the stars 
 got the better of him, and he met her 
 eyes. After all, in spite of the anger 
 and pride in them, there was a look 
 of childish bewilderment that hurt 
 him, and he rose with a sudden dis- 
 regard of appearances. 
 
 "Come and take a walk, Miss " 
 
 he had forgotten her name. She was 
 Araby to him. 
 
 "Tell me," he said, abruptly, as they 
 fell in step, "why you look so angr} r ." 
 
 "You know why I look angry why 
 I am angry." 
 
 74
 
 "No, I don't, my dear child, or I 
 shouldn't have asked." 
 
 "Then I'll tell you. Because all 
 day you have treated me like a dog." 
 
 This form of savage directness rath- 
 er embarrassed him. "Like a dog? 
 No; if you had been a dog I could 
 have patted you and been with you. 
 You wrong me." 
 
 "Perhaps I do. Your monkey is 
 treated kindly enough. Where is he?" 
 
 "In my pocket. Want him?" 
 
 "Yes," returned the girl. 
 
 They stopped in the light of the 
 smoking-room while the transfer from 
 his pocket to her arms was made, 
 and Bax-Drury, seeing them from his 
 corner, came out, still smoking. 
 75
 
 "Where's Allegra?" he asked. 
 
 "In her chair, alone." 
 
 Bax-Drury laughed. "Then I may 
 perhaps be allowed a few minutes' 
 conversation with her? You have 
 finished, Yelverton?" His manner was 
 that of a rather nattered, half-bored 
 husband. 
 
 Yelverton, who knew the manner, 
 was amused by it, and answered in 
 kind. "I'm afraid I bore you stiff. 
 You're awfully kind, Bax-Drury." 
 
 Araby watched them. 
 
 "Anthony is worth him and her 
 and you, all put together," she said 
 as they crossed the bridge leading to 
 the deserted second-cabin deck. 
 
 "I am convinced that Anthony is, 
 76
 
 of all mortals, the most admirable. 
 Only, he is not here. I am, so please 
 be nice to me." 
 
 They sat down on two steamer-chairs 
 in the shadow, and he lighted a cigar 
 without asking her permission. He was 
 a courteous enough man in the rude 
 way of modern Anglo-Saxons, but his 
 nerves were queer and he forgot. 
 
 "Why did you behave like that?" 
 went on the girl. "Tell me, what had 
 I done?" 
 
 "Done? You? Nonsense! If I had 
 done as I wanted to, I'd have brought 
 you out early this morning and kept 
 you for myself all day." 
 
 "Why didn't you?" 
 
 His cigar did not burn. He lighted 
 77
 
 a match and held it up to her face. 
 "Would you have come?" 
 
 She looked unblinking across the 
 flame. "You know I'd have come." 
 
 And then the thought of Schimmel- 
 busch came to him like a guardian 
 angel. "That's all very well, "but 
 what about Schimmelbusch ? " 
 
 "Schimmelbusch?" 
 
 "Yes. You were flirting like the 
 deuce with him when I came up this 
 morning, and this afternoon you and 
 he disappeared." 
 
 "Mr. Yelverton!" 
 
 He heard her straighten up in her 
 excitement. "You didn't think I was 
 with that that beast?" 
 
 " Of course, that's just what I did 
 78
 
 think," he answered, deliberately, but 
 giving up the cigar. 
 
 There was a short pause. Then 
 she said, her voice singularly hoarse : 
 "I will tell you where I was. I was 
 in my cabin, howling ! I howled all 
 the afternoon." 
 
 Yelverton drew a deep breath. He 
 would not make an ass of himself 
 again. "And why did you howl?" 
 
 "Because you were with Allegra." 
 
 The flap of Yelverton's chair fell 
 with a bang as he rose. "Then it was 
 a misunderstanding all around, wasn't 
 it? I'll forgive you for flirting with 
 the alluring Schimmelbusch if you'll 
 forgive me for being with Allegra." 
 
 She rose, too, and came out into the 
 79
 
 light. Her face was as white as stone, 
 her eyes looked sunken. " Let us go 
 back; I am tired." 
 
 "Araby! Hang it, you know I'd 
 rather be with you than with Allegra 
 or anyone else. Don't you?" He 
 spoke so rapidly that she hardly under- 
 stood him. "Don't you?" He took 
 her hand and held it close, watching 
 life come back to her frozen face. 
 
 And not only life came, but beauty, 
 hope, triumph and humility. "Then 
 nothing matters," she said, putting her 
 arms about his neck. 
 
 A minute later he was alone, sitting 
 on the end of her chair, his face in his 
 hands. He couldn't tell whether he 
 
 had been an ass or a demi-god. 
 
 80
 
 'Then nothing matters,' she said, putting her arms about his 
 
 neck.
 
 "Free love free field we love but while we may. 
 The woods are hush'd, their music is no more; 
 The leaf is dead, the yearning past away. 
 New leaf, new life the days of frost are o'er ; 
 New life, new love, to suit the newer day; 
 New loves are sweet as those that went before. 
 Free love free field we love but while we may." 
 
 Tennyson.
 
 VII 
 
 AT GIBRALTAR 
 
 La nuit porte conseil generally bad. 
 Yelverton woke with the full convic- 
 tion that there had been little god- 
 like, much asinine, about him the pre- 
 vious evening. While he dressed he 
 counted the women he had loved with 
 his whole soul. 
 
 There were six, omitting the Cuban 
 in Matanzas, as to whom he was some- 
 what doubtful. They had been dark, 
 without exception. Brunettes evidently 
 had some curious occult influence on 
 85
 
 him. Most of them, thank God, had 
 been married. It is so much easier 
 to be whole-souled with those already 
 appropriated. Araby was, unfortu- 
 nately, not married, but there was no 
 earthly doubt as to her being number 
 seven. As he brushed his hair he ac- 
 knowledged that he was madly in love 
 with her. 
 
 And she was madly in love with 
 him. He wished that she was older, 
 that he knew something of her way of 
 taking great loves. But she was nine- 
 teen and on deck, no doubt, lying in 
 wait for him. 
 
 At noon they were due in Gibraltar. 
 She had never seen it, and was sure 
 
 to go ashore. He had spent a month 
 86
 
 there with number four, and would 
 stay on board. If it weren't for the 
 race he would clear out altogether 
 at Gib, but he couldn't give up seeing 
 T. lift the cup. 
 
 They were dropping anchor when he 
 went up, Joe C. on his shoulder. Joe 
 C., too, had visited Gibraltar, and 
 now gibbered ecstatically at the view. 
 Araby was nowhere about, but Mrs. 
 Copeland and Bax-Drury stood at the 
 rail, each with a glass. 
 
 "Go away, faithless one!" she said. 
 "I am watching for the beautiful hotel 
 tout who gets on here and lures the 
 unsuspecting and susceptible female 
 to the most awful hotel in the world. 
 Anna Vanowski told me of him. He is 
 87
 
 the handsomest man she ever saw 
 and that's saying a great deal." 
 
 "Do you know Anna Vanowski?" 
 asked Yelverton, faintly. Anna Van- 
 owski was number six, a rose of yester- 
 day. 
 
 "Know her? Well, I should rather 
 think I did, poor girl. Do you know 
 her, too?" 
 
 "Slightly. She is very pretty, don't 
 you think?" 
 
 "Very," returned Mrs. Copeland, flat- 
 tered, as he meant her to be, by this 
 subtle appeal to her vanity. 
 
 "She's been in Switzerland this sum- 
 mer with an aunt, and I rather fancy 
 she had some thrilling experiences. In 
 
 fact, I know she had. The aunt has a 
 88
 
 heart, and can't walk a step, so Anna 
 has to go about alone." 
 
 "I see." What he saw was Anna 
 Vanowski's dark face against a back- 
 ground of vivid-green leaves, the back 
 of Anna Vanowski's neck in a low 
 gown, the curve of Anna Vanowski's 
 red mouth. He drew a long breath 
 and turned to the view. 
 
 And then suddenly he realized that 
 Anna Vanowski's dark face had been 
 leathery, the back of her neck a bit 
 scrawny, that she would soon have a 
 mustache for Araby stood beside him. 
 
 "Been seeing Schimmelbusch, my 
 dear?" asked Mrs. Copeland, pleas- 
 antly, looking at the young girl with 
 benevolent eyes. 
 
 89
 
 "No. Why? What have I to do 
 with Schimmelbusch?" 
 
 "Only that you are so radiant, as 
 you were yesterday when you were 
 with him. 'Lesbia hath a beaming 
 eye, but who can tell on whom it 
 beameth?' Perhaps on you, if it 
 wasn't on the lovely Schimmelbusch!" 
 She turned to Yelverton, who laughed 
 and expressed a wish that he might 
 have such luck. 
 
 Araby wore a blue gown; there were 
 two flames in her cheeks; her ej^es, 
 from which the cloud had lifted, were 
 full of something wonderful. Oh, the 
 wonder that a woman with such dim- 
 ples rarely laughed ! 
 
 "Are you going ashore?" Yelverton 
 90
 
 questioned, determining to ask her 
 name on the first occasion. 
 
 "Oh, I forgot to tell you," return- 
 ed Mrs. Copeland, putting her glass 
 back in the case and fastening the 
 strap. "We are all going you, too. 
 I've never seen the galleries, and the 
 woman with the very green black hair 
 tells me we can get tea served some- 
 where." 
 
 "It's going to be scorching hot in 
 that white dust," persisted Yelverton, 
 without hope. But she paid no atten- 
 tion to him, and the health-officer and 
 the famous tout appearing at that 
 minute, she rushed down the deck 
 toward them. 
 
 "Vile place, Gib," observed Bax- 
 91
 
 Drury, and Yelverton loved him for 
 the saying. 
 
 " Awful ! And as for the hotels ! " 
 
 He remembered number four's re- 
 marks about the eggs at their hos- 
 telry. Number four had possessed a 
 ready tongue. 
 
 But arguments were powerless against 
 the feminine fiat, and they went on 
 shore, wandered through the galleries, 
 looked at Queen Isabella's Seat, picked 
 dusty bluebells in the rocks, and left 
 untasted the infusion of ha} r served 
 to them at a hotel. 
 
 Mrs. Copeland's star was in the 
 ascendant. She met a youthful and 
 weary-looking officer on the way up, 
 
 whom she called Toodles; and he in 
 
 92
 
 return called her Lollipop, a playful 
 corruption of her name. Toodles on 
 one side of her, Yelverton on the oth- 
 er, she led the way, followed by Bax- 
 Drury and Araby. 
 
 Araby's color had gone, but Yelver- 
 ton saw with satisfaction that she 
 believed him to be wax in her cous- 
 in's hands, a victim to politeness, and 
 therefore to be pitied as much as her- 
 self. Once in a dark place he managed 
 to take her hand for a minute. He 
 was ashamed of himself for doing it, 
 but somehow he couldn't help it. 
 
 They bought some laces, some cop- 
 pers, and some inlaid boxes. Yelver- 
 ton was allowed to present Mrs. Cope- 
 land with a souvenir of the day in the 
 shape of a tortoise-shell and lace fan. 
 93
 
 arab? 
 
 It is to be hoped that she liked it, as 
 she chose it herself. 
 
 A wind had come up while they were 
 on land, and the dirt}'" little launch 
 bounded so that several people were 
 sick, notably the fat woman with the 
 kodak, who wept and laid her head on 
 Bax-Drury's arm, which afflicting atten- 
 tion he received stolidly. When they 
 reached the ship, word went round 
 that Carme, the victim of the stab- 
 bing affray, had died that afternoon. 
 
 "Poor thing!" said Araby, softly, 
 her eyes full of tears. 
 
 Yelverton stared at her. "I thought 
 you hoped " he began, but she in- 
 terrupted him, laying her hand on his 
 arm, in the crowd. 
 
 "That was before!" 
 
 94
 
 "The sky is changed, and such a change! O night 
 And storm and darkness ! ye are wondrous strong, 
 Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light 
 Of a dark eye in woman!" 
 
 Byron.
 
 VIII 
 
 MAL DE MER 
 
 " HASEL-HUHN ! " said Mrs. Copeland, 
 reading the menu, an hour later. 
 "What on earth is * hasel-huhn ' ? " 
 
 The doctor smiled nervously at her 
 over his spectacles. "It is a baird 
 a domestic baird. We have eaten him 
 before." 
 
 "We have. We have eaten him many 
 times before. He is tired of being 
 eaten. He is growing old, very old." 
 
 The doctor was troubled. "Does the 
 97
 
 gnadige Frau, then, not like him?" he 
 asked innocently. 
 
 Bax-Drury answered, fearing one of 
 Allegra's hopeless impertinences. "No, 
 doctor. We don't care for hazel-hen. 
 As ah a matter of fact, we don't 
 find it quite right. It is a little high, 
 don't you think?" 
 
 The doctor, if distressed, was hun- 
 gry, and partook of the maligned 
 bird with relish. He ate gravy with 
 his knife, but his heart was excellent. 
 
 Araby sat silent. Her place was 
 between Yelverton and a schoolmis- 
 tress from Connecticut, who had been 
 all over Europe with five hundred 
 dollars and black-silk underclothes. 
 
 It was very stuffy in the low-ceiled 
 98
 
 cabin, for, as usual, all the enemies of 
 air were placed, by some malign ingenu- 
 ity on the part of the head steward 
 next the port-holes. The band was 
 playing selections from "Die Fleder- 
 maus." The third officer, at the head 
 of the next table, sang a few bars 
 from time to time. A pleasant excite- 
 ment prevailed, owing to the death 
 of the woman in the steerage, but the 
 ship was rocking ominously and several 
 chairs were empty. 
 
 Yelverton was not hungry; he was 
 not a particularly good sailor and 
 dreaded rough weather. No one sus- 
 pected him of this weakness, however, 
 and as the ship gave one lurch, caus- 
 ing a discordant blast of dismay from 
 a French horn, he blessed his sunburn. 
 99
 
 Mrs. Copeland rose toward the end of 
 the meal. " Pax vobiscum!" she said, 
 "my turn has come. Fresh air or 
 death!" 
 
 "Poor Allegra!" murmured Araby, 
 taking some striped green and pink 
 ice, made in New York. 
 
 " She'll be all right. She'll have some 
 champagne, you know. She's never 
 very bad, "answered Bax-Drury. "Even 
 in the Bay of Biscay she was laid up 
 only about an hour." Seeing Yelver- 
 ton smile under his mustache he added, 
 without moving a muscle of his face : 
 "Anthony I mean Copeland was too 
 bad for description. I don't believe he 
 uttered a word for thirty-six hours be- 
 sides 'My God!' lean hear him yet." 
 
 I 00
 
 The school-teacher from Connecticut 
 helped herself to a large plateful of 
 almonds. "I have a gentleman friend 
 who tried to jump overboard once, 
 in seasickness." 
 
 "Fancy!" said Bax-Drury, in his 
 most English voice, for she was a very 
 good woman who roused hatred on all 
 sides. 
 
 Two more women fled from the room. 
 
 "Let's go up," said Yelverton to 
 Araby. "It's vilely stuffy here, and 
 you are pale." 
 
 "I'm always pale," she laughed, 
 rising, "but it will be nice on deck." 
 
 As he helped her upstairs he asked 
 her, abruptly: "What the dickens is 
 your name?" 
 
 IOI
 
 1 'My name? Araby Arabella, really; 
 but don't you ever call me that." 
 
 "I mean your family name. It is 
 absurd, but I don't know it." 
 
 She turned and smiled at him. 
 "Winship. Do you like it?" 
 
 "I like it, and you, and everything 
 about you," he answered, in an under- 
 tone, "and if you look at me like that 
 I'll kiss you." 
 
 "Do." Her face was grave, her voice 
 deep. 
 
 Yelverton forgot the motion, he for- 
 got the old youth from Elizabeth who 
 was going down the opposite stairs 
 and watching him. "Heavens, what a 
 woman you are! What a woman!" 
 
 "Good evening, Mr. Brannigan," 
 
 102
 
 called the girl, suddenly, in a high, 
 cool voice. "Are you ill, that you 
 go so slowly, or is it only interest in 
 me?" 
 
 Mr. Brannigan nearly broke his neck 
 in the hurry of his descent, and 
 Yelverton laughed at the evidence of 
 her unconscious assimilation of smart 
 London cheekiness. 
 
 " A regular Paul Pry," he commented, 
 as they came out into the cool even- 
 ing air. 
 
 "Yes. But well, you were worth 
 looking at for a moment," she re- 
 turned, pulling her capuchin over her 
 hair and ruffling it into a soft disorder 
 by the act. 
 
 "Was I? How did I look?" 
 103
 
 The steamer was turning, making for 
 the outside ocean as he spoke. It had 
 begun to rain; the lights of the town 
 were blurred in the gray darkness. 
 
 Araby hesitated. "You looked as 
 Adam might have looked when he 
 first saw Eve; as if you had never 
 seen a woman before, and as if you 
 weren't sure that she wasn't some- 
 thing to eat." 
 
 "I'm not. I'm not sure of any- 
 thing. Araby, will you come out to 
 the forward deck with me?" 
 
 "Yes, when I've looked after Allegra 
 a bit. Wait here." 
 
 He stood in the blowing rain until 
 she came back. "It's pouring. Do 
 
 you mind being drenched?" 
 104
 
 "Not I. Come. She had to go to 
 bed, poor thing. Fountain is with her." 
 
 They crossed the bridge and made 
 their way cautiously among the cap- 
 stans and coils of rope to the peak. 
 The rush of the water below them 
 made it almost impossible to talk, 
 and after shouting a few moments 
 they were silent. 
 
 Yelverton held her close to his side, 
 her head against his arm. Only once 
 he spoke, and then with his face close 
 to hers. " Do you love me?" he said. 
 
 She drew his head down and almost 
 whispered her answer, the words fall- 
 ing into his ear with a curious distinct- 
 ness. "I love you with every bit of 
 me. I would die for you, steal for you,
 
 kill for you. This is what I was made 
 for. I have wondered; now I know." 
 He held her closer and gazed into 
 the driving rain. 
 
 106
 
 'And there's a lust no charm can tame 
 Of loudly publishing our neighbor's shame ; 
 On eagles' wings immortal scandals fly, 
 While virtuous actions are but born to die." 
 
 Niphur Harvey.
 
 IX 
 
 ROCK ISLAND CURIOSITY 
 
 "THERE is only one consolation; 
 the beastly storm is blowing us in the 
 right direction." 
 
 Mrs. Copeland lay in her berth in a 
 pink dressing-gown, and Araby, be- 
 side her, held the champagne glass 
 until she should feel up to another sip. 
 
 "Yes. The stewardess says we'll 
 be in almost twelve hours ahead of 
 time," returned the girl, absently. 
 
 "Many people sick?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; almost all the women 
 
 109
 
 and lots of the men. Father O'Brien 
 crawled up the day before yesterdaj- 
 to see the Azores, but said they 
 made him sick. I've not seen him 
 since. The man who has crossed sev- 
 enteen times is perfectly abject. The 
 deck isn't at all pleasant, Allegra ; 
 you needn't pity yourself too much." 
 
 Mrs. Copeland laughed, faintly. "I 
 know. What about Paddy, by the 
 way?" 
 
 " Paddy?" The girl's face hardened. 
 
 "Yelverton. Gie me a wee drappie 
 internally, please." 
 
 "Mr. Yelverton is as bad as the rest. 
 He's not been up since we left Gibral- 
 tar." 
 
 "Years ago." 
 
 no
 
 "Years ago. Why did you call him 
 Paddy, Allegra?" 
 
 "Because that's my name for him. 
 His name is Patrick, so what could 
 be more natural?" 
 
 "Do you mean you call him Paddy 
 to his face?" 
 
 "Of course I do. I'm not one of 
 those people who say things behind 
 people's backs. Oh, give me some 
 champagne, and don't chatter." 
 
 "I wasn't chattering. Allegra, the 
 sun's coming out and the barometer's 
 leaping out of its skin. It will be fair 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "Thank the Lord! It is getting 
 smoother. How do I look?" 
 
 Araby regarded her with attention. 
 
 in
 
 "You look rather yellow and there 
 are bags under your eyes." 
 
 "Oh, rub a little cold cream into 
 me, like a dear, will you?" 
 
 Araby massaged Mrs. Copeland's 
 
 face for half an hour, and then went 
 
 > 
 
 to look up Fountain, who had done 
 a great deal of very audible dying in 
 the last few days, and had subsisted 
 chiefly on chocolate. 
 
 Fountain dispatched to her mis- 
 tress, Araby took a walk with the 
 girl of the common-sense figure, and 
 learned what a perfectly elegant time 
 young ladies have in Rock Island. 
 Araby, who did not possess much 
 sense of humor, listened gravely. 
 
 "You'd ought to come out there and 
 
 112
 
 see for yourself," the girl informed her, 
 cordially. "The boys would give you 
 a splendid time." 
 "What boys your brothers?" asked 
 
 "My brothers! Heavens, no! All 
 of the fellows, I mean. Say, your 
 sister's a widow, isn't she?" 
 
 "She's my cousin. I suppose you 
 mean Mrs. Copeland. No, she's not 
 a widow. Do you know what time it 
 is?" she added, hastily. 
 
 "After five, some time. I thought 
 she must be one. Or perhaps he's 
 her brother," she added, vague but 
 hopeful. 
 
 "Mr. Bax-Drury? You are rather 
 curious, aren't you?"
 
 The girl stared. "Well, yes, I sup- 
 pose I am. But where's the harm? 
 Is he?" 
 
 "No; Mr. Bax-Drury is no relation." 
 
 "Then why in kingdom come is she 
 trailing round with him?" 
 
 Araby turned on her like a tigress, 
 and then was silent for a moment. 
 She was nineteen, and the girl from 
 Rock Island was twenty-three or four, 
 but Araby felt all the bitterness 
 of world-worn experience as she look- 
 ed into the unsuspicious face beside 
 her. 
 
 "We have known him for years," 
 she answered, quietly, choosing her 
 words, "and he is a great friend of 
 
 Mr. Copeland." 
 
 114
 
 Araby had lied to spare that bony 
 face a blush. 
 
 The blush was on her own cheeks 
 as the girl nodded, sympathetically. 
 "I see. You're in his care sort of." 
 
 "I am going in now. I am tired," 
 returned the younger girl, her voice 
 very kind. ''Aren't you glad it's go- 
 ing to clear?" 
 
 The sun came out only to go down, 
 but it went down in a glow of deter- 
 mined glory, scattering the last of the 
 clouds and bringing gleams of hope 
 to lusterless eyes. 
 
 Araby established Allegra just out- 
 side the door, ordered her dinner, and 
 then started down-stairs. 
 
 As she went in Yelverton came out.
 
 " Good-evening ; how are you?" he 
 asked, with a dumb show of utter 
 weakness. "I am a wreck, a poor 
 worm." He was embarrassed, and 
 carried it off by flippancy. It is very 
 irritating to have been seasick for 
 four days. 
 
 "Come and lean your head on my 
 shoulder and let us mingle our tears," 
 called Mrs. Copeland, new life in her 
 voice. " We will share each other's sor- 
 rows and extra dry." 
 
 He sank down by her, still feigning 
 the utmost helplessness, kissing her 
 hand. 
 
 Araby went down to dinner, gnawing 
 her lip. There are moments when 
 
 health is not all in life. 
 116
 
 ''Doubt them the stars are fire; 
 
 Doubt that the sun doth move; 
 Doubt truth to be a liar; 
 But never doubt I love." 
 
 Shakespeare.
 
 x 
 
 ARABY ASKS A QUESTION 
 
 SCHIMMELBUSCH, too, made his ap- 
 pearance the next morning. The fat 
 woman, apparently fatter than ever, 
 reappeared in another sweater red, 
 this time in which she looked like a 
 peripatetic tomato. Tales were told, 
 notes compared, and the man from 
 Mars, had he been there, and simple- 
 minded, would have believed that sea- 
 sickness consisted of violent headache 
 and a lack of sea-legs. 
 
 Yelverton lay back in his chair all
 
 day and talked to Mrs. Copeland and 
 Araby. Once in a while he looked at 
 the girl, which was enough for her, 
 but not for him. Something about 
 her upset him as he had never been 
 upset in his life. He could not see 
 her without wanting to kiss her. He 
 dared not be alone with her. He 
 loved her, but he had 110 intention 
 whatever of marking her. He was 
 not the man to make a husband. He 
 was a grand amoureux, and a grand 
 amoureux he believed himself destined 
 to die. Now it may be possible, but 
 it certainly is not advisable, for a 
 grand amoureux to marry. Yelverton 
 knew that Araby transformed into 
 Mrs. Yelverton would pall on him
 
 after a certain length of time, and 
 that was bound to be hard on him 
 and harder on her. He knew that 
 she loved him in a way that would 
 last. He could trust her, he realized, 
 with a half-audible groan, but he 
 could not trust himself. 
 
 Araby pitied him. She believed 
 that he was too weak to walk; 
 she waited on him and, he knew, 
 longed for the moment when he 
 could take her in his arms. Curi- 
 ously enough, this did not bore or 
 irritate him. She was anything but 
 unmaidenly, yet hers was a primi- 
 tive, straightforward maidenliness that 
 charmed him. 
 
 In the afternoon Mrs. Copeland went 
 
 121
 
 in for a. nap, and Araby and Yelver- 
 ton were comparatively alone. 
 
 "I wish I could put your head on 
 my shoulder and rest it," she said, 
 promptly. 
 
 "My poor head would like nothing 
 better, but think of the poor sensi- 
 bilities of all these dear souls!" 
 
 "Yes. I think Miss Babbitt would 
 die." Miss Babbitt was the girl from 
 Rock Island. Araby laughed as she 
 spoke. "She believes," she went on, 
 nibbling a bit of candied ginger, "that 
 Allegra and I are traveling in Bax- 
 Drury's care. First she thought he 
 was her brother." 
 
 "The deuce she did!" 
 
 "Yes. She is very simple-minded. 
 
 122
 
 Patrick, do you wish I were simple- 
 minded?" 
 
 She had never called him by this 
 name before, and no one on earth called 
 him Patrick. He started. 
 
 "You? No. You are, in a way, dear 
 child, as far as that's concerned." 
 
 "But I mean in her way," insisted 
 the girl. 
 
 Yelverton shuddered. "God forbid 
 that you should resemble the excellent 
 Miss Babbitt in any way!" 
 
 "I am glad. Still, it would be nice 
 not to to know things." 
 
 "Ignorance isn't innocence," plati- 
 tudinized the man, at a loss. 
 
 "No. And knowing things hasn't 
 
 hurt me. I know it hasn't, because I 
 123
 
 hate it all. Oh, if you knew how I 
 hate it the lies, the false charity, 
 the deliberate unseeingness ! Do you 
 think I'd have come at all, if he 
 hadn't asked me to?" 
 
 "He? Who?" 
 
 "Anthony, of course. He said I 
 was better than no one, to to keep 
 up appearances. Anyhow, I don't 
 think appearances matter. No one 
 minds what anyone else does, because 
 they all do it themselves." 
 
 She was incoherent, but he under- 
 stood, and sighed. He pitied her for 
 her poor little half-knowledge, which 
 she believed so comprehensive. 
 
 "The worst of it is," the girl went 
 
 on, sucking the sugar off another piece 
 124
 
 of ginger, and speaking as calmly 
 as if the subject had been the weather, 
 "that I don't believe they either of 
 them care a straw. It has been go- 
 ing on for years, and they are used to 
 each other; that is all. The girl in 
 the steerage that the other one killed 
 was better than she, in one way, be- 
 cause she did love the man. She died 
 in his arms. The doctor told me. It 
 made the doctor cry." 
 
 "Ah, he looks rather tearful, the 
 doctor." 
 
 "Don't laugh, dear," she said, sol- 
 emnly. "It was a tragedy. And he 
 loved her I mean Gaetano. He prom- 
 ised to send me the papers with the 
 account of the trial. They will let her 
 I2 5
 
 off, the doctor says. They always do, 
 in Italy, for a crime of passion." 
 
 "Poor devils! But I thought you 
 were glad that the wife arranged mat- 
 ters as she did ; and here you are pity- 
 ing the other one!" 
 
 Araby looked up at him, that glow 
 in her eyes which always bowled him 
 over. "I do pity her. What if some- 
 one should stab me, and I had to 
 stop loving you." 
 
 "You won't stop?" he asked, the 
 words coming of themselves. 
 
 "Shall I stop?" That was all she 
 said, but it was enough. 
 
 126
 
 1 The moods of love are like the wind ; 
 And none know whence or why they rise." 
 
 Patmore.
 
 XI 
 
 LOST LIBERTY 
 
 THE next night there was a dance. 
 The girl from Rock Island appeared 
 in a muslin frock, cut low and adorned 
 with rosettes of green ribbon, in 
 which she looked, unfortunately, 
 more sensible than ever. Schimmel- 
 busch was in evening clothes, and 
 wore a checked silk handkerchief 
 tucked coquettishly in his waistcoat. 
 Mrs. Copeland, Araby, Bax-Drury, and 
 Yelverton sat together and watched 
 
 the dancing. Mrs. Copeland wore a 
 129
 
 pink gown, and Araby yellow. Yelver- 
 ton had bought a stiff fan of some 
 kind of quill-feathers, mounted in ivory, 
 at Gibraltar, and then refrained from 
 giving it to the girl. When he saw 
 her in the yellow gown he went below 
 and fetched the fan. 
 
 " Carry this," he said, carelessly, 
 thrusting it into her hand. "It suits 
 your gown. Doesn't it, Mrs. Cope- 
 land?" 
 
 Allegra laughed. "It does more; it 
 looks like her herself, somehow." 
 
 "Brown and stiff, eh?" suggested the 
 girl, laughing. "Thanks, Mr. Yelver- 
 ton." 
 
 She looked older to-night. He had 
 
 seen but little of her all day, and she 
 130
 
 'Schimmelbusch . . . ivorc a checked silk handkerchief 
 tucked coquettishly in his waistcoat."
 
 showed her resentment in a. prim, 
 grown-up way. She was good-humor- 
 edly indifferent to him, and he hated 
 it. 
 
 He danced twice with Mrs. Cope- 
 land, and then asked Araby, who re- 
 fused. 
 
 "May I ask why?" 
 
 She looked at him. "For no par- 
 ticular reason only, I'd rather not." 
 And Schimmelbusch making his bow 
 just then, she finished the waltz \vith 
 him. 
 
 Yelverton was furious. What had 
 got into her? How dared she treat 
 him in that way? He put it down to 
 childish caprice, ignoring the fact 
 that under his guidance the girl had
 
 grown into a woman, with a woman's 
 instinctive ruse. Araby, seeing the 
 anger in his eyes, was delighted, and 
 danced indiscriminately with everyone. 
 At length Yelverton could stand it no 
 longer, and going up to her said, 
 shortly, "Dance with me." 
 
 She obeyed without a word, still 
 smiling. The waltz was from "The 
 Singing Girl." He never forgot it. 
 
 "How dared you treat me that 
 way?" he whispered. 
 
 "Didn't you like it?" 
 
 "For a tuppenny-bit I'd punish you 
 this minute. You deserve it. Do you 
 know what I've been enduring?" 
 
 She looked into his eyes. "Yes, I 
 know. That's wiry I did it. I wanted 
 134
 
 you to know ! Why do you make 
 love to Allegra?" 
 
 "Do you call that making love? If 
 that is, then this isn't. I can't get 
 you talked about. Don't you under- 
 stand that?" 
 
 Her face darkened. " That's not 
 the reason. I don't believe you." 
 
 "Then what is the reason?" He 
 thought that perhaps she could tell 
 him, for he was beginning to doubt 
 whether there was any reason, after all. 
 
 "The reason is, I think, that you 
 are half-sorry you love me. You are 
 afraid of something afraid !" 
 
 They stopped dancing as the music 
 ceased, and passed out from the cur- 
 tained space into the open.
 
 "You are right," Yelverton said, 
 slowly, his hands in his pockets, his 
 head bent. "I am half-sorry, and I 
 am afraid." 
 
 The girl watched him, the old frown 
 settling again on her face, darkening 
 her eyes. 
 
 "Then now's the time to end it. I 
 suppose, in plain English, you're not 
 a marrying man. Very well, good- 
 bye." 
 
 He was startled by her measured 
 voice, by her curiously keen insight. 
 She was right; now was the time to 
 end it. He could be offended with 
 her lack of faith, or he could own up 
 frankly. Which was the better way? 
 
 In silence he tried to decide, while 
 136
 
 she stood and watched him. Either 
 might be the better way, but neither 
 of them was possible. 
 
 "I love you!" he said, suddenly, 
 catching her head and holding it to 
 his heart. "You are crazy!" 
 
 "Say that again." 
 
 "I love you! You know it. Feel 
 my heart beat. I can't touch you 
 without changing color. You are mine 
 and I am yours, Araby!" 
 
 She gripped his hand, fiercely. "I 
 wish," she said, hoarsely, "that all 
 those people were dead, that I might 
 kiss you and kiss you " 
 
 Schimmelbusch, with a shawl, was 
 an anti-climax. Araby walked off with 
 him, without trusting herself to speak,
 
 and Yelverton, after a few minutes of 
 staring at the stars, went back to the 
 dancing. 
 
 It was done, then. He, Pat Yelver- 
 ton, aged thirty-six, grand amoureux 
 and wanderer, had engaged himself 
 to a miss of nineteen. He did not 
 consider her lack of fortune, though 
 he was not rich himself; he thought 
 only of the great fact that his liberty, 
 after numberless hair-breadth escapes, 
 was gone. He was not sorry. His 
 objections to a future Mrs. Yelver- 
 ton were gone with the freedom, and 
 he was happy. Only, he was dazed as 
 well. 
 
 In the smoking-room, where he went 
 for a drink, he met Bax-Drury. "Miss 
 138
 
 Winship is an orphan, isn't she?" he 
 asked, abruptly. 
 
 Bax-Drury stared. "No; worse luck, 
 poor girl. Her father's mad. Been 
 shut up somewhere for fifteen years. 
 Thinks he's a mule and kicks every- 
 body." 
 
 "Disagreeable for his attendants, I 
 should say," returned Yelverton, ab- 
 sently. 
 
 139
 
 "Drink to-day, and drown all sorrow; 
 You shall perhaps not do 't to-morrow." 
 
 Fletcher.
 
 XII 
 
 CHAMPAGNE FOR ONE 
 
 YELVERTON sat down at a table in a 
 corner and ordered a cocktail. 
 
 When he was a child of ten his 
 mother had married for a second hus- 
 band a stock-broker named Clancy. 
 This man Clancy made a fortune, set- 
 tled it on his wife, and they bought a 
 home in the country and prepared to 
 enjoy life. Instead of enjoying life, 
 however, Clancy went mad slowly, 
 decorously, a trifle madder each day. 
 Yelverton remembered the horrors of 
 143
 
 the three years at "The Anchorage," 
 before the day when Clancy caught 
 him in his strong arms and held him 
 out of a second-story window, trying 
 to teach him to fly, the mother see- 
 ing all from the garden below. 
 
 "Spread your silry arms, my dear, 
 and go through the motions of swim- 
 ming," the madman had said to him, 
 kindly enough, for he was fond of the 
 boy. "When I let go, you'll be off 
 like a bird!" 
 
 Yelverton could feel the warm sum- 
 mer breeze blow his hair back as 
 his stepfather swung him gently to and 
 fro, and encouraged him to make the 
 attempt. He could see his mother's 
 
 rigid upturned face, and hear a 
 144
 
 distant gardener whistling over his 
 work. 
 
 He drank the cocktail absently and 
 ordered another. He rarely drank, 
 and was by taste a temperate man, 
 but this was an occasion, he decided, 
 when he must get very drunk. 
 
 He remembered his mother's scream 
 when, by some strategy, his old nurse 
 induced his stepfather to postpone 
 the flying-lesson, and he was laid on 
 a sofa just within the window. 
 
 A week later Clancy was taken away. 
 He had never seen the man again, as 
 the poor wretch killed himself before 
 the year was out. 
 
 The smoking-room was empty save 
 for himself. A ship was passing, and
 
 most of the men were out watching 
 the signaling. 
 
 "Look here, steward; bring me a 
 bottle of dry champagne." 
 
 "Ja whol, sir." The man obeyed, and 
 then he, too, went out on deck. The 
 smoking-room steward on an ocean 
 steamer grows very blunted to surprise 
 over the drinking capacity of the pas- 
 sengers. Julius put Yelverton down 
 as making up for the time lost during 
 his two days' seasickness. 
 
 Yelverton remembered his mother's 
 face after her periodical visits to the 
 asylum. That face was one of the 
 things he could never forget. Then 
 came the worst. His half-brother was 
 
 born Cecil, they called him. Cecil was 
 146
 
 never quite right, and the mother and 
 the brother knew it, but never acknowl- 
 edged it even to each other, until the 
 day when Cecil set the house on fire, 
 when he was twelve, by way of cele- 
 brating Guy Fawkes' Day. Fire was his 
 passion. Twice he tried to burn down 
 the house, and then, at fourteen, soaked 
 his own clothes in petroleum and set 
 fire to them. It killed his mother as 
 well, and the tragedy was the direct 
 occasion of Pat Yelverton's first leaving 
 Europe. He went to India, and, join- 
 ing an exploring party into Thibet, 
 was absent about two years. Coming 
 back, at the age of thirty, he had met 
 Mrs. Carberry, the second of his great 
 
 loves, and to be near her he had 
 
 147
 
 wandered about through Europe and 
 America for months, following her and 
 her invalid husband. 
 
 He poured out another glass of 
 champagne. It was going to take a 
 great deal to make him as drunk as 
 he felt it necessary he should be. His 
 hand was as steady, his brain as clear, 
 as before the first cocktail. He had re- 
 trograded a good deal morally since 
 the days of Hilda Carberry, but physic- 
 ally he was perfectly fit. 
 
 "I'll jump overboard rather than 
 marry her," he said, under his breath. 
 " Hereditary insanity has no charms 
 for me." 
 
 Some of the doctors had attributed 
 
 Cecil's madness, not to heredity, but 
 
 148
 
 to his mother's terror over the flying- 
 lesson, and to her general nervous 
 condition before his birth, but Yel- 
 verton had never believed this. 
 
 He sat for an hour drinking and 
 dreaming, and then, rising, looked at 
 himself in a mirror. He was pale and 
 looked ill, but he did not look what 
 he was drunk. 
 
 The steward came back and took 
 away the bottles and glasses, and Yel- 
 verton paid him, counting the change 
 deliberately. 
 
 "Solitary spree, eh?" a man said 
 to him, laughing, as he reached the 
 door. 
 
 Yelverton was surprised, for he had 
 
 not seen the poker players come in, 
 149
 
 but he announced quietly, turning 
 up his collar: "One bottle of cham- 
 pagne. The other bottle someone left, 
 and that Dutch steward neglected to 
 take it away." Then he went out. 
 
 Mrs. Copeland stood at her cabin 
 door, saying good-night to some people. 
 It was eleven o'clock. 
 
 "Come and walk," Yelverton began, 
 abruptly. "It is too fine to turn in." 
 
 "I'm game!" She turned to the 
 open door as the sleepy women left. 
 "Araby, chuck me out a cloak, will 
 you? I'm going for a walk." 
 
 Araby pulled back the curtain and 
 looked out as she handed her cousin 
 the cloak. 
 
 Yelverton did not look at her, and
 
 as he wrapped the shawl about the 
 older woman's bare shoulders he bent 
 and kissed her ear. 
 
 "You beast!" cried Mrs. Copeland, 
 dodging away and laughing. "Are 
 you mad?" 
 
 "Perhaps I am. Come, let us walk." 
 
 Araby had seen, and he was glad. 
 He had no conscience, no remorse. 
 It had made him glad to hurt the girl 
 who hurt him. Marry a woman with 
 a mad father? Not he! He had had 
 enough of lunatics in his life. 
 
 They paced up and down the de- 
 serted deck. Mrs. Copeland let her 
 cloak slip back on her shoulders. 
 She was very animated and exceed- 
 ingly pretty prettier by far than
 
 Miss What's-her-name, the girl with 
 the mad father. 
 
 A sailor turned off the electric light, 
 and it was dark. 
 
 "This is vile. I can't see you," 
 Yelverton said, and Mrs. Copeland 
 laughed. 
 
 "When the saloon is dark I must 
 go in. Araby would slay me. Poor, 
 dear Araby is so proper." 
 
 "Send poor, dear Araby to bed." 
 
 Then he told Mrs. Copeland that 
 he loved her, that she was driving 
 him mad, that he wished to God he'd 
 never seen her. He did it well, for it 
 was not the first time. 
 
 Her manner was perfection. She 
 did not snub him beyond the point 
 152
 
 of peace-making, for there were still 
 three days to New York, but she told 
 him he mustn't talk that way. She 
 said that she, at thirty-one, was far 
 older than he at thirty-six; that he 
 must find some nice young girl and 
 marry her. By way of encouraging 
 him to find the nice young girl, she 
 let him kiss her once. And she half- 
 acknowledged that her life was not all 
 roses, and that, perhaps, had things 
 been different which they were not 
 And then he kissed her again, without 
 being allowed. 
 He slept, without stirring, until noon.
 
 "But I love you, sir: 
 
 And when a woman says she loves a man, 
 The man must hear her, though he love her not." 
 
 Mrs. Browning.
 
 XIII 
 
 ADVICE TO JOE C. 
 
 WHEN he came up on deck about 
 four o'clock Yelverton thanked the 
 gods that he had had the courage to 
 offend Araby the night before, as he 
 could not have done it to-day. 
 
 She was pale and fierce-looking, as 
 she sat holding Fluffy Daddies on her 
 lap so pale and so fierce that poor 
 Yelverton almost went down on his 
 knees then and there and told her 
 that he didn't care if all her forebears 
 had been gibbering idiots almost,
 
 but not quite. And he had not the 
 courage to go to her and tell her why 
 he wouldn't marry her. 
 
 It was Thursday, and Saturday they 
 would reach New York. For that 
 length of time he could keep away 
 from her, and a little wholesome 
 anger on her part would help them 
 both to get over it more quickly. 
 He hoped she would be most unpleas- 
 ant that would harden him. So he 
 passed her with a bow, and sat down 
 by Mrs. Copeland, who smiled sadly 
 at him and then looked down. He 
 could keep away from Araby, but he 
 really was not equal to love-making, 
 so he took refuge in a very effective, 
 gloomy silence. He was pale, and 
 158
 
 'She was pale and fierce-looking, as she sat holding Fluffy 
 Daddies on her lap."
 
 Mrs. Copeland enjoyed his pallor. 
 She called him her poor boy, and gave 
 him a powder to cure the headache. 
 
 "I didn't sleep much myself," she 
 admitted, in a low voice. 
 
 Yelverton did not move from his 
 chair until dinner-time, and after that 
 meal, at which the hasel-huhn was 
 more reviled than ever, and the un- 
 happy doctor was made to confess 
 that they had run short of ice three 
 days before, he took a walk with Mrs. 
 Copeland. 
 
 Bax-Drury watched them with an 
 amused expression in his pale eyes. 
 
 " Seems to be rather bad, doesn't 
 he?" he asked Araby. 
 
 1 'No. It looks to me as though 
 161
 
 she were leading him on to amuse 
 herself." 
 
 "That doesn't in the least prevent 
 his being rather bad, my dear." 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't call me 'my 
 dear' ! I'm not your dear, and I hate 
 it!" retorted the girl, furiously. 
 
 Bax-Drury studied her. "What a 
 brute of a temper you have ! It'll 
 make you old before your time. Look 
 at Allegra, thirty-one and not a wrin- 
 kle. And why? Because she never 
 was angry in her life because she has 
 no temper." 
 
 Araby looked at him, her face sud- 
 denly calm. "And no heart and no 
 feelings. Besides," she went on, "she 
 
 has the inestimable advantage of pos- 
 162
 
 sessing you." Then she turned and 
 left him. 
 
 An hour later Yelverton found her, 
 coiled on a rug in a dark corner of 
 the deck. 
 
 "What are you doing there?" he 
 asked, surprised out of his self-posses- 
 sion. 
 
 "I was asleep," she lied. 
 
 "Araby you have been crying." He 
 sat down in a chair by her. 
 
 "I have not," she answered, shortly. 
 "I never cry. I howl and shriek some- 
 times. I wish you'd go away and 
 leave me." 
 
 He was silent. He was tired out, 
 and afraid to speak lest he should say 
 
 words he did not wish to say. 
 163
 
 "You must think me & beast," he 
 began, at length, lighting a cigar. 
 
 She laughed. "No, my dear man; 
 not a beast." 
 
 He paused, the lighted match, half- 
 burnt down, still in his fingers. 
 
 "Then?" 
 
 "Since you ask me, I think you a 
 fool," she returned, promptly. 
 
 "A fool!" He tossed away the 
 match with a flirt of the wrist. 
 
 "Yes. Even you can't resist Alle- 
 gra. You love me, and }^et you must 
 make love to her because she chooses 
 to have you." 
 
 "So that is it you think I can't 
 resist Allegra. At least, you must 
 
 own that Allegra is very seductive." 
 164
 
 "But you love me!" she sobbed 
 suddenly, rolling over and hiding her 
 face in her arms as a child does. 
 "Me, me, me!" 
 
 He was glad she cried, for tears 
 made him angry. They would stiffen 
 his moral backbone. 
 
 "If you're going to howl and 
 scream," he said, rising, "I shall 
 clear out." 
 
 Scraps of a poem of Hugo's came 
 into his mind as she clasped him 
 about the knees, so fiercely as nearly 
 to throw him down 
 
 Va, laisse-moi te suivre, 
 
 Je mourrai du moins pres de toi; 
 
 Je serai ton esclave fidele 
 
 "No, no; don't go! Don't leave 
 
 165
 
 me alone, or I shall die. What have 
 I done to you? I have only loved 
 you!" 
 
 Her voice was not the voice of a 
 child, childish as was the action. It 
 was deep, rough, husky, as if it hurt 
 her throat such a voice as the sav- 
 age princess would have had and 
 the light, as she moved, fell on her 
 face. 
 
 "For God's sake, get up, Araby!" 
 he said. "Someone will come. And 
 don't don't be so excited. After all, 
 I can't be rude to your cousin." 
 
 She rose obediently, and stood before 
 him with quaintly folded hands again 
 as the savage princess might have 
 
 done at a kind word from her master. 
 166
 
 " Forgive me. Tell me I am a fool, 
 and that it is I whom you love." 
 
 " You must know that," he answered, 
 roughly. 
 
 She recognized the sincerity of his 
 voice and drew a deep breath. "Then 
 it is all right. Sometimes I think I 
 am going mad, when I see you with 
 her." 
 
 He had laid his arm across her 
 shoulders, but, as she spoke, drew 
 back as if she had stung him. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Someone is coming. I'll go this 
 way." He rushed through the nar- 
 row passage to the other side of the 
 steamer and went below at once. 
 
 He was behaving like a cad and a 
 
 167
 
 brute, and he knew it, yet lie could 
 do nothing else. He took Joe C. in 
 his arms and sat for an hour on the 
 edge of his berth, thinking and abus- 
 ing himself. He loved the girl more 
 than he had ever loved before, but as 
 he could not marry her there was a 
 certain relief in the thought that, 
 after all, his freedom was not gone. 
 He loved her for her beauty, her 
 strength of feeling, her firm char- 
 acter, but fierce passions easily grow 
 to be manias; moreover, they are 
 not to be sought in one's wife. He 
 would love her madly for a year 
 or two ; then some day he would 
 fall in love with another woman, 
 
 and Araby would lead him a horrible 
 168
 
 life; she would be jealous, exacting, in- 
 sufferable. 
 
 He rubbed Joe C. against his cheek 
 and groaned. He was not proud of 
 himself, and he disliked the mood, 
 for as a rule he considered himself, 
 not without reason, rather a good 
 sort. 
 
 "Never fall in love with a young 
 damsel, Joe," he said aloud, as he 
 rose; "it's fatal." 
 
 169
 
 "Nor jealousy 
 Was understood, the injured lover's hell." 
 
 Milton.
 
 XIV 
 
 HIGH WORDS 
 
 "WHY do you insist on Mr. Yelver- 
 ton's making love to you?" 
 
 Mrs. Copeland looked up from her 
 book and stared. " Insist on Mr. 
 Yelverton's making love to me ! My 
 dear child, you are dotty." 
 
 "I am not dotty. Why do you 
 want to have every man you meet? 
 Why do you?" 
 
 "Why do the heathen rage and the 
 geese imagine vain things? You grow 
 rather vulgar when you are vehement,
 
 Araby. You know, I have told you 
 that before." 
 
 Araby had gone at once to the cabin 
 when Yelverton had left her, and with 
 the savage directness that character- 
 ized her, spoke straight to the point. 
 
 Mrs. Copeland had put on a dress- 
 ing-gown and sat with her high-heeled 
 feet on the edge of the divan. The 
 girl stood before her, her hands hang- 
 ing by her sides. 
 
 "I don't care whether I'm vulgar 
 or not. I want you to let Mr. Yel- 
 verton alone." 
 
 "Oho! So we are to have a scene 
 
 de jalousie! Poor Bax, I wish he 
 
 didn't have to miss it!" Then she 
 
 added, kindly enough, for she had a 
 
 174
 
 good heart of its kind: "Sit down, 
 child, and don't excite yourself. 
 What's all this about my Paddy?" 
 
 But Araby did not sit down. "I 
 am not excited, and I won't have you 
 call him your Padd}'. Paddy is not 
 his name, and he is not yours." 
 
 "You. are right; he's not mine. 
 Good old Anthony is mine, and no 
 other. As to Yelverton, I hope to 
 goodness you haven't fallen in love 
 with him, Araby." 
 
 The girl was silent for a minute, then 
 she sank into a chair, as if too tired 
 to stand. 
 
 "Yelverton is charming, and, I 
 should imagine, a very decent sort," 
 went on the older woman, "but he's
 
 not a, man for a girl to fall in love 
 with." 
 
 "Why isn't he?" 
 
 Mrs. Copeland watched her with a 
 certain amount of concern in her blue 
 eyes. Araby was queer and uncom- 
 fortable, but Araby was her cousin, 
 and useful as well. 
 
 "Why? Because a girl should never 
 fall in love with a man she can't 
 marry." 
 
 "He isn't married." 
 
 "Then you are in love with him. 
 Poor little thing! Never mind, dear, 
 we land the day after to-morrow, and 
 you'll see lots of men at Newport." 
 
 "I'll see him," the girl answered, 
 
 defiantly. 
 
 176
 
 "See Yelverton? But he's not going 
 to Newport at all. He's going to be in 
 New York with a lot of the racing men." 
 
 "He will come to see me. He loves 
 me. He is going to marry me." 
 
 Mrs. Copeland stared. "Yelverton 
 loves you? My dear, don't you be- 
 lieve it. What makes you think he 
 does?" 
 
 "He told me so. He kissed me." 
 
 "Then," exclaimed Allegra Cope- 
 land, rising, with a flash of indigna- 
 tion in her eyes, "he is a beast, and 
 ought to be tarred and feathered ! 
 Are you sure?" 
 
 The girl laughed. "Am I sure? Am 
 I a fool? Of course I am sure. And 
 
 you needn't abuse him." 
 
 177
 
 "I don't wish to abuse him. It is 
 my fault, I suppose. Only, I am so 
 used to having you chaperon me that 
 it never occurred to me to chaperon 
 you." 
 
 "I didn't need to be chaperoned, 
 thanks," retorted Araby, shortly. "A 
 man has a right to love a girl, and to 
 tell her so." 
 
 "Oh, you idiot! He has the right 
 if he means to marry her, but not un- 
 less he does mean to. Yelverton has 
 no more idea of marrying you than he 
 has of marrying " 
 
 "You, perhaps!" 
 
 Mrs. Copeland hesitated for a mo- 
 ment. She knew perfectly well that 
 
 Yelverton was not seriously in love 
 
 178
 
 with her, but she knew, too, that he 
 had no intention of marrying Araby. 
 Had he had such an intention his tac- 
 tics would have been quite different. 
 She was distinctly sorry for the girl, 
 in whom she vaguely felt there was a 
 capacity for suffering that she herself 
 had not, and here was a knife put 
 into her hand by the man, with which 
 she might possibly operate in time. 
 
 " Listen, Araby," she said, laying 
 her hand on the girl's roughened hair, 
 "and don't bite my head off. Yel- 
 verton is a very charming and agree- 
 able man, and I like him. But, like a 
 great many charming and agreeable 
 men, he's a hopeless flirt. He can't 
 
 help making love to every pretty 
 
 179
 
 woman he meets. Lots of men are 
 like that Bertie Ailing, for instance, 
 and Lord Carstairs." 
 
 "Bertie Ailing!" 
 
 "Yes. Oh, he isn't a splendid 
 blond giant like Pat Yelverton, but 
 they're the same inside. Now, just to 
 prove to you that I am right, I'll tell 
 you that Yelverton has been making 
 love to me, too." She paused. 
 
 "I know it," answered the girl, with 
 a laugh. "Isn't that exactly what 
 I said in the first place? He makes 
 love to you because you are prett}^ 
 and attractive, and because you like 
 it." 
 
 "I may have an unregenerate fond- 
 ness for being made love to, but if 
 
 180
 
 Yelverton loved you he wouldn't care 
 a hang what I wanted ! Can't you 
 see that?" 
 
 "I can see that he loves me, and 
 that you tempt him!" 
 
 Mrs. Copeland burst out laughing. 
 "Tempt him! My dear, your lan- 
 guage is something classic ! You 
 make me feel like Ninon with her 
 grandson. Pat Yelverton tempted!" 
 
 "Yes, tempted," persisted the girl, 
 doggedly. "Perhaps you think I 
 don't know enough of the world to 
 understand. Well, I do. He loves 
 me, and yet one side of him can't re- 
 sist you." 
 
 "Rot! The man makes love to me 
 just as he'd make love to any attrac- 
 181
 
 tive woman who happened along. He 
 can't resist me because he doesn't try 
 doesn't want to. After all, why 
 should he? I sha'n't do him any 
 harm, little woolly lamb. He'll never 
 think of me again when we've parted, 
 probably with a few appropriate tears 
 and that is perfectly satisfactory. 
 Only, you would better realize at once 
 that he'll never think of you again, 
 either." 
 
 Araby caught the speaker's arm with 
 both hands and held it tight. "That 
 is not true ! Not a word of it ! I 
 know; I've seen him struggle. He 
 loves me whether he wants to or not, 
 and I mean to have him. All I ask 
 
 of you, Allegra Copeland, is to let 
 182
 
 him alone and not work against 
 me." 
 
 "Have you no pride?" asked the 
 older woman, curiously, watching her. 
 
 "No; where he is concerned, not 
 one bit. I will fight for him, and I'll 
 win him, for the best of him is on my 
 side. If you weren't blinded by your 
 own conceit, you'd have noticed long 
 ago how his voice changes when he 
 speaks to me, how his eyes " She 
 broke off, giving Mrs. Copeland's arm 
 a little jerk. "Will you let him alone 
 in the future? You don't care for 
 him. You have Bax-Drury. Will you 
 promise?" 
 
 "I wish you'd go away and leave 
 
 me in peace!" retorted Mrs. Cope- 
 
 183
 
 land, a little crossly. "You look like 
 a perfect demon, and yet I can't help 
 being sorry for you. I never heard a 
 girl talk so in my life." 
 
 "Will you promise?" 
 
 " I'll promise nothing, and if you have 
 any sense you'll forget all this nonsense 
 as soon as possible. Let go my arm ! " 
 
 Araby dropped the arm and stood 
 staring at the older woman for a mo- 
 ment. "You're much worse than that 
 poor girl the woman stabbed. You 
 don't care for anything; you couldn't 
 if you tried. I can; I can love and 
 I can hate. Once more I tell you to 
 let Yelverton alone." 
 
 She turned away abruptly and went 
 
 out. 
 
 184
 
 'Once more I tell you to let Yelverton alone.'"
 
 "I pray thee cease thy counsel, 
 Which falls into mine ears as profitless 
 As water in a sieve." 
 
 Shakespeare .
 
 xv 
 
 FOUNTAIN CONSULTED 
 
 ALLEGRA COPELAND had been really 
 amused by Araby's onslaught, and 
 the girl's evident fear of her charms 
 both flattered and surprised her. She 
 was vain, but she had a sense of 
 humor, and knew perfectly that she 
 was no siren of the gigantic propor- 
 tions attributed to her by Araby's 
 jealous mind. She was sufficiently 
 clear-eyed to see that Araby herself 
 contained more of the material from 
 
 which modern sirens are made 
 189
 
 and the material has changed since 
 Ulysses's day. The modern siren 
 has no tail, and wears rather more 
 clothes than her old-fashioned sister, 
 but she must possess mysticism and a 
 certain depth of nature. Arab} 7 had 
 both, while Mrs. Copeland considered 
 herself, not without reason, a very 
 attractive doll. Bax-Drury's attach- 
 ment had lasted, to be sure, but had 
 settled long since into a sort of mar- 
 ried affection, and that Yelverton was 
 not in love with her she knew quite 
 well. She had meant kindly in telling 
 her that Yelverton had made love 
 to her. She believed in heroic treat- 
 ment for heroic patients. She was 
 
 sorry the thing had happened, and de- 
 190
 
 termined to avoid further trouble. 
 Araby's row would be a hard one to 
 hoe if the girl were going to take every 
 little flirtation seriously. It was a 
 pity, for flirtation, as an art, is so 
 instructive and agreeable. 
 
 As she dressed the next morning, 
 Mrs. Copeland pondered the subject 
 between remarks to Fountain and 
 fleeting caresses bestowed on Fluffy 
 Daddies, and decided that everything 
 would turn out well things always 
 did. Only, she wished there hadn't 
 been a look in the girl's eyes that 
 reminded her of Mrs. Patrick Camp- 
 bell in her tragic roles. She wouldn't 
 mention the matter to Baxy. He had 
 
 a trick of scolding her once in a while, 
 191
 
 in a way that good old Anthony never 
 ventured on. If Anthony had been 
 there she would have told him. 
 
 " Fountain," she said, "I've just 
 read such a funny book!" 
 
 "Indeed, mum." 
 
 "Yes. A man in it makes love to 
 two women at once that is, to a 
 young girl and to her friend, who is 
 married. The girl, takes it seriously 
 and well, cuts up rough." 
 
 "Indeed, mum." Fountain was af- 
 flicted with a perennially red nose and 
 a broken heart. She was not sympa- 
 thetic, but she could dress hair, and 
 she never talked. 
 
 "The friend there's where I left off 
 
 doesn't know what to do; whether 
 192
 
 she ought to speak to the man or 
 ignore him. I wonder what she'll de- 
 cide? It is a very well- written book." 
 
 " Indeed, mum." Fountain, whose 
 one folly was novel-reading, knew per- 
 fectly that there was no such book 
 in the party, for she had read every 
 one there was, but she said nothing 
 further. 
 
 "I think she will speak to the man," 
 went on Mrs. Copeland, rubbing her 
 nose with a bit of chamois skin. 
 "What do you think?" 
 
 "I should say it depends on her 
 character, mum. If she likes amuse- 
 ment, she will. Particularly, if he's 
 a fine man." 
 
 Mrs. Copeland laughed. "Oh, yes, 
 193
 
 he's a fine man. You see, she is puz- 
 zled as to whether it would be quite 
 fair to the girl." 
 
 "Indeed, mum." 
 
 Mrs. Copeland decided that she 
 must really give Yelverton a piece 
 of her mind, and in order to do it 
 effectively she put on a gown that 
 he did not know, a rather demure 
 brown gown, suitable to a serious 
 interview. It was sure to be a very 
 serious interview. 
 
 She found him with Joe C. in his 
 arms, reading " Reflets sur la Sombre 
 Route." 
 
 "I have it in for you, young man," 
 she began, frowning and smiling at 
 
 him. 
 
 194
 
 "For me?" He rose, pocketed the 
 marmoset and Pierre Loti, and gave 
 her his whole attention. "I think, 
 however, that I have behaved very 
 well." 
 
 "Oh, do you?" 
 
 They had reached the end of the 
 promenade deck, and now went over 
 the bridge to the second cabin. 
 
 " Oh, do you ? " she repeated. ' ' Then 
 what about Araby?" 
 
 Luckily for Yelverton she was in 
 front of him. "Araby?" he asked. 
 "Don't slip there. What do you 
 mean?" 
 
 "I mean, you wretch, that I'm sorry 
 you've been making love to her." 
 
 They found the chairs where he and 
 195
 
 the girl had sat a few nights before, 
 and sat down. Yelverton took Joe C. 
 from his pocket and held him to his 
 face. "Did you hear that, mudder's 
 pudgums?" 
 
 "I never call Fluff mother's pudg- 
 ums!" exclaimed Mrs. Copeland, with 
 a superior sniff. 
 
 "And I never said you did. So you 
 think I've been making love to Miss 
 Winship? Also to the virgin from 
 Connecticut?" He looked at her nar- 
 rowly, under his cap, as he spoke, 
 and saw that she required no emo- 
 tionality from him at present. "And 
 I was under the impression that I'd 
 been trying, in my humble way, to 
 
 make love to you," he went on. 
 196
 
 She laughed. " Oh, me ! Yes, and 
 I must in justice say that you've done 
 it very well. Only, I'm in earnest 
 now. I suppose it never occurred to 
 your worship that it was hardly fair 
 to whisper soft nothings in such a 
 youthful ear?" 
 
 "I'm being asked my intentions, 
 Joseph," he murmured, confidentially, 
 to the marmoset. 
 
 "No, you're not," she retorted, 
 promptly, "for no one knows better 
 than I that you have none. But let 
 me tell you that I think it was rather 
 nasty of you." 
 
 "May I ask whether you confided 
 to Miss Winship your intention of 
 
 blowing me up?" he asked, suddenly, 
 197
 
 plunging the marmoset into his pocket 
 and turning to her. 
 
 She was a little frightened, as he 
 meant her to be. "No; certainly 
 not." 
 
 "Then let's call it off. I've had 
 enough, and it would surely be most 
 offensive to her. As far as that's con- 
 cerned, she strikes me as being per- 
 fectly capable of taking care of herself. 
 You may be sure that if she had found 
 me presuming, she'd have known how 
 to turn me down.*' 
 
 Allegra was disappointed. "I'm sure 
 I hope so," she said, rising, "and no 
 doubt I was mistaken." 
 
 "No doubt you were. Shall we drink 
 
 the cocktail of peace together?" 
 198
 
 "No, thanks. I must look up Mr. 
 Bax-Drury and finish our arrange- 
 ments about landing." 
 
 He looked down at her with an 
 amused smile. "Don't be so fierce. 
 When you are fierce you are too de- 
 licious." 
 
 "I don't feel in the least delicious, 
 I assure you." 
 
 "You are, nevertheless, and in one 
 minute I shall lose my head. Going, 
 going " 
 
 199
 
 "I hear a voice you cannot hear, 
 
 Which says I must not stay; 
 I see a hand you cannot see, 
 Which beckons me away." 
 
 Tickell.
 
 XVI 
 
 AND THE LAST 
 
 YELVERTON passed a most unpleasant 
 afternoon. It never occurred to him 
 that Mrs. Copeland's attack was due 
 to anything more than a formless 
 suspicion, touched with a little jeal- 
 ousy ; but it had annoyed him, and the 
 thought of leaving the girl the next 
 morning and never seeing her again 
 was almost unendurable. He went 
 below immediately after dinner and 
 
 tried to sleep anything to pass the 
 203
 
 time. But he could not sleep, and 
 went through a very creditable amount 
 of mental pain, considering his capaci- 
 ties and the unheroic role he had 
 adopted. 
 
 "I'm. behaving like a scoundrel," 
 he told himself, "but I'll be blessed if 
 I see any other way out of it. If I 
 tried to explain to her, and she looked 
 at me, I'd be lost." 
 
 It was some slight satisfaction to 
 him to see that he looked ill. 
 
 What he wanted was Araby. He 
 couldn't have her without forfeiting 
 not only his liberty and his pecuniary 
 comfort, but also the determination, 
 which had grown with his growth, 
 
 never to marry a woman in the re- 
 
 204
 
 motest danger of insanity. It was 
 absurd, the strength of his love for 
 the girl. She bowled him over com- 
 pletely, made fiddle-strings of his 
 nerves, and could wind him round her 
 finger, when he was with her. But 
 once away from her and the places 
 associated with her, he would be all 
 right. He told himself this, but it 
 changed nothing. He was wretchedly 
 unhappy; he had never been so un- 
 happy before. It was unbearable, he 
 told the unsympathetic Joe C. ; and it 
 was. 
 
 At about five the steward brought 
 him a book, with Miss Winship's com- 
 pliments. The note within it was 
 
 short: 
 
 205
 
 Allegra says that I am a fool to believe 
 you; that you do not wish to marry me. 
 Is she right? I know you love me, but you 
 must tell me in so many words whether I 
 have misunderstood you. 
 
 ARABY WINSHIP. 
 
 Yelverton rose and swore. So they 
 had been talking it over! The girl 
 was impossible. Who ever heard of 
 a girl writing such a note? Yet he 
 kissed the paper frantically then threw 
 it out of the port-hole. It was another 
 chance. He tore a sheet out of his 
 memorandum book and scribbled on 
 it: 
 
 God knows I love you with all that is de- 
 cent of me. But I can't marry you. I shall 
 never marry anyone. Forgive me. 
 
 P. Y. 
 
 He sent the note in another book. 
 206
 
 Afterward he lay down and wished 
 he might die. If the steamer would 
 only go faster ! A man can distract 
 himself in a big city. She had the 
 note now she had read it she He 
 buried his face in his pillow. 
 
 Araby read the message quietly, 
 out on the forward deck. Then she 
 tore it up and dropped the bits into 
 the writhing foam under the prow. 
 
 They were due at Hoboken the next 
 morning at ten o'clock. The voyage 
 was over; everything was over. 
 
 The girl sat, her chin in her hand, 
 her wide, dry eyes fixed on the sun- 
 set into which she seemed to be fly- 
 ing. She looked like some uncanny 
 207
 
 figurehead, a figurehead of ill-omen. 
 And she did not move until the first 
 bugle-call for dinner startled her. 
 Then she went and dressed. It was 
 the captain's dinner, an unusually 
 long, unusually bad repast, ending 
 with speeches and illuminated ice- 
 cream. Yelverton did not appear. 
 
 At last it was over. As they reached 
 the deck Araby left Mrs. Copeland, 
 to whom she had not spoken during 
 dinner, and went up to Yelverton, 
 who was smoking by the rail. 
 
 "Thanks for your note," she said. 
 
 He groaned. "There's no use in my 
 trying to explain but you may pity 
 me." 
 
 "Pity you?" 
 
 208
 
 Yet, truly, he was to be pitied, pos- 
 sibly more than she. 
 
 "Yes," he answered. "Please go." 
 
 She looked at him for a second. 
 "You think that I don't understand," 
 she said, slowly, "but I do. It is not 
 your fault." 
 
 "Then in heaven's name, whose fault 
 is it?" 
 
 She laughed a little. "Allegra's." 
 
 "It isn't her fault. She is perfectly 
 innocent. Please go," he repeated, 
 turning his face from the passers-by 
 to the sea. 
 
 "Yes, I'm going." And she left him, 
 going to her cabin. 
 
 Mrs. Copeland joined him shortly 
 
 afterward, a cigarette between her lips. 
 209
 
 "Oh, what ails you? Seasick?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Ah, then it's conscience. Have you 
 seen Araby?" 
 
 "Yes. She tells me that you have 
 been meddling. In God's name, what 
 was it to you?" He turned on her 
 fiercely, and, before she could answer, 
 left her. 
 
 She was a little frightened. She 
 loved making mischief, though she 
 was not malicious; she detested being 
 found out. Araby was a clumsy idiot 
 to reveal her part in the affair. Araby 
 might have known that she meant 
 well. She only hoped neither of them 
 would tell Bax-Drury. 
 
 She walked for an hour with a man 
 
 2IO
 
 she had discovered that morning, 
 played cards for another hour, then 
 walked again. Araby was nowhere 
 about, and Schimmelbusch was look- 
 ing for her. He had the wishbone of 
 a hazel-hen for her as a keepsake. 
 
 Mrs. Copeland began to yawn. The 
 fat woman insisted on exchanging 
 cards with her. The girl from Rock 
 Island wanted her picture. Then the 
 lightship appeared far off, low down 
 against the horizon. The crowd drew 
 to the rail. Mrs. Copeland watched 
 for a moment, and, having found it 
 like any other light, walked round 
 to the other side, with a view to get- 
 ting into her cabin without tiresome 
 good-nights.
 
 Yelverton came out as she appeared. 
 She stopped, and he came up to her, 
 his face white, his hair ruffled. 
 
 "Where is she?" he said, roughly. 
 "I can't do it. I've got to tell her. 
 Go and fetch her." 
 
 "You mean Araby?" she stam- 
 mered. 
 
 "Yes. Send her to me here." 
 
 "I won't. I don't believe you'd 
 make her happy." She was really 
 frightened and conscience-stricken. 
 
 Someone passed, and he drew nearer 
 to her, laying his hand on her arm. 
 "Come, be kind to me. I've had 
 enough of this." 
 
 There was a whirr of skirts, a 
 hurry of footsteps, a flash in the light 
 
 212
 
 from the saloon window; then, an 
 instant later, someone a woman 
 leaped over the rail, down into the 
 coil of waters. 
 
 There was a splash, a cry. At the 
 same moment Allegra Copeland fell 
 heavily to the deck. 
 
 " She has stabbed me ! " she screamed. 
 
 Yelverton asked no question. He 
 understood all the truth. Silently he 
 let them carry the wounded woman 
 into her cabin; silently he watched 
 the throwing of the explosive buoy, 
 its lurid receding, the lowering of the 
 boat. He heard the regular splash of 
 the oars, felt the throb of the engines as 
 they were reversed. He heard someone 
 
 saying with a strong German accent : 
 213
 
 "Only a slight flesh wound. She 
 
 is conscious." 
 
 Bax-Drury came out of the cabin, 
 half-fainting, and leaned over the rail 
 beside him. 
 
 "No use," he said, thickly. "Araby 
 was sucked under immediately. They 
 always are." 
 
 Yelverton nodded. 
 
 The boat was coming back; the 
 buoy, miles away, went out; the ship 
 was still. Something soft touched 
 Yelverton's cheek. He put up his hand 
 to the mute caress of sympathy. It 
 was Joe C. 
 
 FINIS.
 
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