"A pipe too!" echoed Pat; "faith, it's woman's greatest enemy."
"And man's greatest friend," retorted Monteith, as he strolled off.
Pat, laughing, went away to arrange another dance, and to this end asked Mrs. Pellypop to play the Lancers. Mrs. Pellypop, tall, majestic and aggressively virtuous, was the mother-in-law of a Bishop, and was on her way home to pay her daughter a visit, an event regarded by the worthy prelate with anything but unmixed joy. She had an eye-glass--very effective to crush presuming people--a chilling smile and very strong opinions about her own position; in short she was a type of all that was virtuous and--disagreeable.
While the dancing was thus going on Ronald, having lighted his pipe, strolled up and down the long deck for a few minutes, then leaned meditatively over the side and watched the glittering waters sweeping past. While thus engaged he felt a light touch on his arm, and, on turning round, saw a man he knew standing near him.
"Hullo, Ventin," said Ronald, removing his beloved pipe for a moment, "why aren't you dancing?"
"Because I hate dancing," retorted Mr. Ventin irritably; "I'm sick of the perpetual jangle of that d--d piano, of Miss Lester's flirtations, and of Mother Pellypop's virtues--I'm sick of the whole thing and I wish the voyage were over."
"I don't," replied Ronald taking a seat on one of the deck chairs; "it's very jolly I think."
"Yes, I daresay," said Ventin gloomily; "you are young and rich, with all the world before you. I, on the contrary, am old."
"Rubbish!"
"If not in years, at least in experience. I have lost all my illusions, and have discovered the gold of fancy to be only the tinsel of reality. You stand on the threshold of a happy career; I can only look back on a ruined life."