Mrs. St. James is here, looking superb. Her husband never accompanies his clever wife; she was much younger than he. Another thing, he was too much engrossed with his busy business life to care for gaieties; so he left her to go her own way, enjoy herself after her own fashion, nor ever complained if his dream of having a cosy home, with a bright pleasant companion to discuss his affairs with, and be his household fairy, had vanished. It certainly was nonsense to fancy such a life for Arial. Why, she was a mere child when he married her; she was of the world, worldly. So Mr. St. James kept his own counsel, his temper and his tongue. She is now standing by the railing, watching the little waves lapping against the ship's side. She is laughing too, in that lazy fashion so peculiarly her own, while the pretty boyish looking fellow at her side thinks that if ever he had a friend in the world, to whom he would confide his secrets, that woman is Mrs. St. James. No one knew exactly who Ned Crane was; he had no friends or relatives; at least no one knew if he had any. He was a young bank clerk. Mrs. St. James was very proud of him, made a pet of him, while Mr. St. James liked the boy, and said "the lad would make a fine man if he lived." Every one liked him, for he was a jolly good fellow, beloved by one and all, as all sunny-dispositioned persons are, welcomed everywhere for the pleasant brightness their presence throws around.
"Do introduce me, Mrs. St. James. I will do any thing for you if you will. Come, before the next band."
Mrs. St. James does not reply, but the lazy smile leaves her perfect face, as she looks into the boy's dark, earnest eyes. Arial has good places in her character. She pities the young man at her side; it will not be without an effort, to save him further pain, that she refuses to do as he asks.
"Look here, Ned," she says gently, "why do you wish to know this Miss Litchfield? There are lots of the girls here whom you know; it is more than probable were you to ask for a dance she would refuse you, on the ground that all her dances are promised; so it would only be another case of the 'moth and the candle.' See, there is Florrie Silverstone just over there, waiting for you to ask her. Ah! Gordon, you promised to show me over the vessel; shall we go?" and Mrs. St. James places her dainty hand on Gordon Aubrey's arm, calls Rea to join them, and turns away.
"Well! of all the cool acts I ever heard of, that was done the neatest." Ned looks after the retreating trio with a comical mixture of amusement and vexation. Then he sees Jerry Hopkins, and when Mrs. St. James returns to dance her promised waltz with a lieutenant of the flagship, who had gone down without a struggle before her charms, she glances across the deck, while a look—is it displeasure, or what?—crosses her face, for what she sees is Ned Crane pacing to and fro, and beside him, in a marvel of a white lace dress, is Dolores Litchfield. She has removed her white lace and satin hat, and Ned, looking too utterly happy for anything, is carefully holding a huge white lace parasol above her pretty dark head. Arial St. James never loses her temper at trifles; if Ned will be so headstrong, to get himself into scrapes, he will have to get out again the best way he can. However, she goes over, with her prettiest smile, and taps Dolores on the shoulder with her fan.
"Can it be possible, Miss Litchfield, that you have forgotten me?"
Dolores starts, turns pale, then a hot, burning blush dyes her smooth young cheek. It is very evident Mrs. St. James and Miss Litchfield are not entire strangers to each other. Ned Crane, standing there, never remembers having felt so guilty ever in his life before; not that there was any reason for feeling so, but it was decidedly annoying to have Mrs. St. James lift her large blue eyes to his face, with a look that said so plainly, "You know her in spite of me, don't you?" Then the pink flush leaves Dolores' pretty face, and she looks Arial straight in the eyes.
"Yes, Mrs. St. James, I remember you perfectly. Our past knowledge of each other could scarcely allow of my forgetting you. As for your recognizing me, to be candid, I never dreamed you would do so."
For once Mrs. St. James almost loses her presence of mind. She looks as if it would do her good to shake the girl standing before her, looking so beautiful and defiant.
"Why should I not recognise you, Dolores? You will allow me to call you so still, will you not?"