Down at the other end of the deck-house, leaning over the rail, smoking viciously, was Hugh, alone, angry, sulky.

It was a beautiful night, cool and crisp, calm and soft.

A rich full moon threw its glorious shimmer across the waves, flashing a million silvery blades along the watery pavement that seemed to lead to the end of the world.

Scores of passengers were walking the deck, and all were happy, save two.
For two days Hugh had found but little chance to speak with Grace.

She had plotted and calculated and so had he, but Veath gallantly upset the plans.
"This can't go on any longer, or I'll go back," vowed Hugh as he glared with gloomy eyes at the innocent path of silver.
"Your brother is not very sociable of late, is he, Miss Ridge ?" asked Veath, as they turned once more up the deck toward the disconsolate relative.