Bearing out what Kennedy and the others had already told me as to Mrs Vansittart being the actual as well as nominal captain of the yacht, at the call of “All hands” the lady had appeared on deck. She was arrayed in an exceedingly neat and workmanlike costume of navy-blue serge, the jacket of which was fastened with gilt buttons bearing the insignia of the New York Yacht Club, the cuffs being adorned with four rows of gold braid, the top row showing the “executive curl”, while her smartly dressed chestnut hair was surmounted by a navy cap of the most approved pattern, the peak edged with the usual trimming of a wreath of oak leaves embroidered in gold thread, while the front of the cap bore the New York Yacht Club badge.
True, she did not give her orders respecting the unmooring of the ship directly to the crew, as this would probably have resulted in unduly straining her voice, singularly sweet and pure in quality, of which, as I subsequently discovered, she was very justly proud. She gave her orders to Kennedy, who acted as her aide and repeated them in trumpet-like notes that could be distinctly heard all over the ship.
It was then, while we were hauling out of dock, that I got my first glimpse of Miss Anthea, Master Julius, and the Reverend Henry James Monroe, all of whom came on deck to witness the passage of the ship through the dock gates and down the river. I was stationed in the waist, and therefore only obtained at that moment a comparatively distant glimpse of the saloon party on the poop, but even that sufficed to confirm the testimony of the second engineer as to Miss Anthea’s physical charms. But I did not altogether like her expression, which was a blank, save for a hint of hauteur mingled with dissatisfaction at things in general.
Her brother was so exactly like her in features that the two might have been twins, but he was a good three inches shorter than his sister, as well as a trifle thinner in the face. He talked incessantly in a sharp, high-pitched, and most unmusical voice, the unattractiveness of which was further heightened by a pronounced nasal American accent. From such scraps of his conversation as reached me from time to time I gathered that his talk was almost wholly about himself, his doings, his opinions, his likes and dislikes—chiefly the latter. I liked his expression even less than that of his sister. It was a most objectionable mingling of peevishness, insolence, and self-assurance; while his manner, even to his mother, was domineering and dictatorial to a perfectly disgusting degree. There was no doubt in my mind that he had been thoroughly spoiled from the moment of his birth onward, and the process was still going on, if I was anything of a judge of such matters.
As regards the Reverend Mr Monroe, all I need say about him at this juncture was that he appeared to answer in every respect to the verbal portrait that had been drawn of him in the wardroom during the preceding evening.
Shortly after we had cleared the dock gates I got a message from Snip requesting me to present myself in his workshop as early as possible to try on my mess jacket and waistcoat; which, like the new rig I had donned little more than an hour earlier, I found fitted me excellently. I was promised that the entire suit should be ready for me in time for mess that night (it appeared that everything was done in tip-top style aboard the Stella Maris).
About five o’clock, Marsh, the chief steward, presented himself with a message from Mrs Vansittart, requesting the pleasure of my company at dinner at seven o’clock, which invitation I of course accepted, as in duty bound.
We were just abreast the eastern extremity of Canvey Island when the second bugle call sounded for dinner. I was by that time dressed and quite ready, and joined Kennedy, who had also been invited; and together we repaired to the drawing-room, where Mrs Vansittart, gorgeously attired and wearing many diamonds, very graciously received us and then proceeded to introduce me in due form to the parson, her daughter, and her son.
As regards the parson, I need only say that his manner was everything that the most fastidious person could possibly desire. He was a gentleman, in the highest sense of that often misused term; and although his conversation subsequently, during dinner, evidenced that he was a most erudite and finished scholar, there was nothing of the pedant about him. Information exuded from him naturally and simply because he could not help it; it seemed impossible to broach a topic upon which his knowledge was not complete, and he was brilliant without the slightest apparent effort.
As for Miss Anthea, she looked lovely in a perfectly simple white satin dinner frock, her only jewellery being a thin gold necklet, from which was suspended a very fine opal in a quaint and curious gold setting. She acknowledged my introduction to her with the slightest possible inclination of her head, and thereafter ignored my existence for the rest of the evening. And her brother’s greeting of me was equally frigid.