Lieutenant De Vere's gay voice jarred suddenly on his musings:
"Tell you what, old fellow, you missed something by not coming aboard with me. I formed a charming acquaintance this afternoon."
"Eh, what?"—the captain roused himself with a start.
"I formed a charming acquaintance on board ship this afternoon. Prettiest girl in America—England, either, I should say."
A swift suspicion darted into Lancaster's mind.
"Ah, indeed?" he said. "What is the divinity's name?"
"I have not found out yet," confessed the lieutenant.
"Ah! then your boasted acquaintance did not progress very far," chaffingly.
"No; but I rely on time to develop it. We shall be on board steamer ten days together. I shall certainly find out my fair unknown in all that time," confidently.
Lancaster frowned slightly with that lurking suspicion yet in his mind.
"Oh, you needn't look so indifferent!" cried De Vere.
"You would have lost your head over her, too, old man. Such a face, such a voice, such an enchanting glance from the sweetest eyes ever seen!"
"And such a goddess deigned to speak to you?" sarcastically.
"Yes. Shall I tell you all about it? I'm dying to talk to some one about her!"
"Don't die, then. I would rather be bored with your story than have to carry your corpse home to the regiment."
"It was this way, then: I was ennuyé at the hotel, so I came on board early with my traps—as early as one o'clock. It was about two, I think, when she came—lady and gentleman with her."
"Oh!"
"Yes, and shawls—bags, books, bouquets—the three B's—ad infinitum. She had a dark veil over her face. Her friends bade her good-bye—lady kissed her with enthusiasm—then they gave her the shawls and three B's they had helped carry, and went away."
"Who went away?"
"The lady and gentleman went away. If you had been listening half-way to my story, Lancaster, you would have understood what I said."
"Don't be offended. I am giving you my strictest attention. Go on, please."
"She gathered all her things in her arms—she should have had a maid, really—and began to trip across the deck. Then the wind—bless its viewless fingers whirled off her veil and tossed it in the air."
"Fortunate!" muttered Lancaster.
"Yes, wasn't it?" cried De Vere, in a lively tone. "So I gave chase to the bit of gossamer and captured it just as it was sailing skyward. I carried it back to her, and lo! a face—well, wait until you see her, that's all."
"Is that the end of the story?" queried Lancaster, disappointed.
"Not yet. Well, it was the sweetest face in the world. A real pink and white; eyes that were gray, but looked black because the lashes were so long and shady. Pouting lips, waving bangs, just the loveliest shade of chestnut. Imagine what I felt when this lovely girl thanked me in a voice as sweet as a sugar-plum, and gave me her things to hold while she tied on her veil again."
"I hope you did not let her see how moonstruck you were on the instant."
"I don't know. I'm afraid she did," dubiously. "You see, I was so taken by surprise I had not my wits about me. I talked to her quite idiotically—told her I would not have restored the veil had I known she would hide that face with it again."
"And she?" asked Lancaster, with a restless movement.
"Oh, she colored and looked quite vexed a moment. Then she asked me, quite coolly, if my keeper was on board."
There was a minute's silence. Lancaster's broad shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.
"So I begged a thousand pardons," De Vere continued, after a minute's thoughtful rumination, "and I found her a seat and brought the chamber-maid to take her things and show her her state-room; so she could not choose but forgive me, and I talked to her a minute."
"And told her all about yourself in a breath," laughed the captain.
"No; I would have done it, but she did not stop long enough to hear me. I asked her if she was going to cross the 'big pond' all alone by herself, as Pat would say, and she laughed very much and said no; she was to have two chaperons. Then she asked me was I going, too. I said yes, and was fumbling for my card-case when the chamber-maid whisked her away from me. But to-morrow I shall—Oh, oh! Lancaster," in a suppressed tone of ecstasy, "there she is now!"
Lancaster dropped his cigar into the heaving waves and turned his head. He saw a lissom, graceful figure coming unsteadily across the heaving deck—Leonora West!
Leonora West, even more fair and bonny looking than yesterday, in a jersey waist and a black-kilted skirt just short enough to show the arched instep of an exquisite foot in a dainty buttoned boot. She carried her veil on her arm now, and wore a big black hat on her head, under which all her wealth of curling chestnut hair waved loosely to her perfect waist. The fair "innocent-arch" face looked as fresh as a rose and beamed with gentleness and good nature.
Captain Lancaster rose up deliberately, and disregarding his friend's amazement, went forward to meet her.
"Miss West, the deck is rather unsteady. Will you honor me by taking my arm?" he said, bowing before her with elaborate politeness.
CHAPTER XI
Lieutenant De Vere gazed in the most unfeigned astonishment, not to say dismay, at the strange and unexpected sight of Captain Lancaster coolly leading the unknown beauty across the unsteady deck. As he said of himself when relating it afterward, he might have been "knocked down with a feather."
And when he saw that they were coming straight toward him, and that Lancaster had quite an air of proprietorship, and that the girl was looking up with an arch smile at him, he was more astonished than ever, he was almost stupefied with amazement. Did Lancaster know her, really? And why had he kept it to himself, selfish fellow?
And then he was overpoweringly conscious that they had come up to him. He struggled to his feet and came near falling back over the railing into the ocean, out of sheer wrath, for just then Captain Lancaster said, with just a touch of raillery in his tone:
"Miss West, permit me to present my friend, Lieutenant De Vere."
"Lancaster knew her all the while, and he has been chaffing me all this time," flashed angrily through De Vere's mind but he suppressed his rising chagrin and said, with his most elaborate bow:
"I am most happy to know your name, Miss West. I have been longing to know it ever since I met you this afternoon."
"What audacity!" thought Lancaster to himself, with a frown that only grew darker as the girl replied, gayly:
"And I am very glad to know that you are Captain Lancaster's friend. You will help to amuse me on the way over."
She sat down between them, Lancaster on one hand, De Vere on the other. The lieutenant looked across the bright, sparkling young face at his friend.
"Do you mean to tell me that this is the baby?" pointedly.
"Yes."
"But, how—" pausing helplessly.
Lancaster laughed, and Leonora joined her musical treble to his.
"You see, De Vere, there was a mistake all around," he said. "I found out yesterday that the baby existed only in our imaginations."
"You might have told me," De Vere muttered, reproachfully.
"I was reserving a pleasant surprise for you to-day," Lancaster rejoined.
Leonora turned her bright eyes up to his face.
"When did you come aboard?" she inquired, naïvely.
"At the last moment," he replied, rather coldly.
"You were detained?"
"Yes," dryly.
A sudden light broke over De Vere's mind. He laughed provokingly.
"Miss West, would you like to know what detained him?" he inquired.
"Yes," she replied.
"He went up to Blank Street, to fetch you," laughing.
"No?"
"Yes, indeed. Ask him, if you doubt me."
She looked around at Lancaster. There was a flush on his face, a frown between his eyebrows.