Mrs.Tucker in vain rubbed the pane with her handkerchief; it had vanished.

Meanwhile the ship, as she neared the Gate, drew out from the protecting headland, stood outlined for a moment with spars and canvas hearsed in black against the lurid rent in the horizon, and then seemed to sink slowly into the heaving obscurity beyond.

A sudden onset of rain against the windows obliterated the remaining prospect; the entrance of a servant completed the diversion.
"Captain Poindexter, ma'am!" Mrs.Tucker lifted her pretty eyebrows interrogatively.

Captain Poindexter was a legal friend of her husband, and had dined there frequently; nevertheless she asked: "Did you tell him Mr.Tucker was not at home ?" "Yes, 'm." "Did he ask for ME ?" "Yes, 'm." "Tell him I'll be down directly." Mrs.Tucker's quiet face did not betray the fact that this second visitor was even less interesting than the first.

In her heart she did not like Captain Poindexter.