The wind was increasing and she found the decks nearly deserted, but the solitude and the storm suited her mood just then, and, wrapping her rug closely about her, she seated herself in a comparatively sheltered place, alone with her own thoughts.
As she recalled the parting interview with Mr.Whitney, another face seemed to flash before her vision, and a half-formed query, which had been persistently haunting her for the last few hours, now took definite shape and demanded a reply.

What would have been the result if that other, instead of leaving without one word of farewell, had asked for the hope of something better and deeper than friendship?
What would her answer have been?
Even in the friendly shadow of the deepening twilight she shrank from facing the truth gradually forcing itself upon her.
A solitary figure pacing the deck aroused her from her revery.

As he approached she recognized the young Englishman of whom Edith had spoken.

Dressed in warm jacket, with cap well pulled down over his eyes and hands clasped behind him, he strode the rolling deck with step as firm and free as though walking the streets of his native city.

She watched him with admiration, till something in his carriage reminded her of the young secretary at Fair Oaks, and in the sudden thrill of pleasure produced by that reminder there was revealed to her inner consciousness a confirmation of the truth she sought to evade.
She watched the retreating figure with flashing eyes and burning cheeks.