About a quarter of an hour later on, another steamboat could be seen crossing the river; and on a near approach of the vessel, the deck not being crowded, he easily made out Rose.
Her photograph did not do her justice. She was even handsomer than he anticipated, and her good looks had evidently gained her the unwelcome attentions of a young but dissipated-looking individual, who was standing near her.
This person, whose looks, gait, dress, and manner showed that he belonged to the Turf, was well known to Walter, and with good reason, since he had won large sums of money from him. The young man's name was Romney; and though he contrived to hold up his head in the betting-ring, he was not in very good repute, and was regarded as a blackleg. Walter held him in detestation, for he mainly attributed his ruin to him.
Though he must have perceived that his attentions were annoying to Rose, Romney did not discontinue them, but became more impertinently assiduous as the boat neared the pier, and seemed determined not to part with her.
Rose looked out anxiously for her father, but could not discover him, nor did she perceive any person she knew, or whose protection she could claim.
Stepping on shore before her, Romney offered her his hand, but she refused to take it, and his proposal to carry her bag was peremptorily declined.
At this juncture, Walter came up, and pushing the intruder forcibly aside, bade him begone, and no longer molest the young lady.
“What business have you to interfere?” cried Romney, furiously. “Who are you? Do you know him?” he added, to Rose.
“I never saw the gentleman before,” she rejoined. “But I am greatly obliged by his assistance.”
“Gentleman!” echoed Romney, scornfully. “He doesn't deserve the term!”