His spirit rose at the comparative dearth of “C’s.”  Not more than a dozen of the crowded Monarchic’s passengers were dancing with impatience beneath the third letter of the alphabet, and Mr. Rolls, Jr., walked straight up to tall Miss Child without being beaten back by a surf of “C’s.”  To be sure, Miss Carroll was under the same letter, and observed the approach of Peter with interest, if not surprise; but she was seated on a trunk at some distance key in hand.

“Well, I’m mighty glad to find you!” exclaimed Peter cordially.  “I began to think it must be a trick of dryads to wait themselves ashore without waiting for the clumsy old ship to dock.”

“I was busy packing this morning,” replied the alleged dryad, with a hard, undryadic expression on her “heart-shaped” face.

“You disappeared so early last night, I’d an idea you were doing your packing then so as to be up with the dawn and get a good look at the harbour.”

“I could see a great deal from our porthole.”

“I shouldn’t have thought you were the kind of girl to be satisfied with portholes,” said Peter, hoping to wake up one of her smiles.  Her voice sounded rather tired.

“Beggars mustn’t be choosers,” was the dry reply.

“But dryads may be,” he encouraged her.

“I’ve left my dryadhood hanging up behind the door.”  She spoke sharply, almost irritably, it seemed.  “I shan’t need it in New York.”

“Oh, won’t you?  That’s where you’re mistaken!  There’ll be lots of times when you’d rather have it than the grandest opera cloak.”

“I shan’t need an opera cloak, either.”

Peter was still smiling, though less confident of the old friendly understanding which had given them a language of their own with words which would have been nonsense for others.

“We’ll see.  Anyhow, I shall ask you to go to the very first worth-while opera that comes along.  Consider it a formal invitation.”

“Very well, I will, and answer it formally.  ’Miss Child thanks Mr. Rolls for his kind invitation, and regrets that a previous engagement makes it impossible for her to accept.’”

“By Jove, that does sound formal enough!  How do you know you’ll have a previous engagement?”

“I’m perfectly certain I shall.”

This was the real thing!  There was no joke in the bottom of the medicine glass.

Peter’s face grew red, like a scolded schoolboy’s.  Winifred (who was looking at Miss Carroll’s trunk, but saw only Mr. Rolls) thought that he was going to speak out angrily, and perhaps give her a glimpse of his black heart.  She hoped he would, for it would have been a relief; but he did not.

“Have I done anything to offend you?” he asked with a straight look; and though he spoke in a low tone, it was not a secret tone at all.

“No, certainly not,” she answered, opening her eyes at him.  “Why do you ask?”

“Because—­you weren’t like this on the ship.”