The Vultures | Page 5

ladder to the bridge, looking back as he went.
Mr. Mangles threw his cigar overboard.
"She don't like smoke," he growled.
Cartoner looked at the cigar, and absent-mindedly threw his cigarette after it. He had apparently not made up his mind whether to go or stay, when Miss Cahere approached her uncle, without appearing to notice that he was not alone.
"I suppose," she said, "that that was one of the officers of the ship, though he was very young--quite a boy. He was telling me about his mother. It must be terrible to have a near relation a sailor."
She spoke in a gentle voice, and it was evident that she had a heart full of sympathy for the suffering and the poor.
"I wish some of my relations were sailors," replied Mr. Mangles, in his deepest tones. "Could spare a whole crew. Let me introduce my friend, Mr. Cartoner--Miss Cahere."
He completed the introduction with an old-fashioned and ceremonious wave of the hand. Miss Cahere smiled rather shyly on Cartoner, and it was his eyes that turned away first.
"You have not been down to meals," he said, in his gentle, abrupt way.
"No; but I hope to come now. Are there many people? Have you friends on board?"
"There are very few ladies. I know none of them."
"But I dare say some of them are nice," said Miss Cahere, who evidently thought well of human nature.
"Very likely."
And Cartoner lapsed into his odd and somewhat disconcerting thoughtfulness.
Miss Cahere continued to glance at him beneath her dark lashes--dark lashes around blue eyes--with a guileless and wondering admiration. He certainly was a very good-looking man, well set up, with that quiet air which bespeaks good breeding.
"Have you seen the ship on the other side?" she asked, after a pause; "a sailing ship. You cannot see it from here."
As she spoke she made a little movement, as if to show him the spot from whence the ship was visible. Cartoner followed her meekly, and Mr. Mangles, left behind in his deck-chair, slowly sought his cigar- case.
"There," said Miss Cahere, pointing out a sail on the distant horizon. "One can hardly see it now. When I first came on deck it was much nearer. That ship's officer pointed it out to me."
Cartoner looked at the ship without much enthusiasm.
"I think," said Miss Cahere, in a lower voice--she had a rather confidential manner--"I think sailors are very nice, don't you? But . . . well, I suppose one ought not to say that, ought one?"
"It depends what you were going to say."
Miss Cahere laughed, and made no reply. Her laugh and a glance seemed, however, to convey the comfortable assurance that whatever she had been about to say would not have been applicable to Cartoner himself. She glanced at his trim, upright figure.
"I think I prefer soldiers," she said, thoughtfully.
Cartoner murmured something inaudible, and continued to gaze at the ship he had been told to look at.
"Did you know my uncle before you came on board, or were you brave enough to force him to speak? He is so silent, you know, that most people are afraid of him. I suppose you had met him before."
"No. It was a mere accident. We were neither of us ill. We were both hungry, and hurried down to a meal. And the stewards placed us next to each other."
Which was a long explanation, without much information in it.
"Oh, I thought perhaps you were in the diplomatic service," said Miss Cahere, carelessly.
For an instant Cartoner's eyes lost all their vagueness. Either Miss Cahere had hit the mark with her second shot, or else he was making a mental note of the fact that Mr. Mangles belonged to that amiable body of amateurs, the American Diplomatic Corps.
Mr. Mangles had naturally selected the leeward side of the deck-house for his seat, and Miss Cahere had brought Cartoner round to the weather side, where a cold Atlantic breeze made the position untenable. Without explanation, and for her own good, he led the way to a warmer quarter. But at the corner of the deck-house a gust caught Miss Cahere, and held her there in a pretty attitude, with her two hands upraised to her hat, looking at him with frank and laughing eyes, and waiting for him to come to her assistance. The same gust of wind made the steamer lurch so that Cartoner had to grasp Miss Cahere's arm to save her from falling.
"Thank you," she said, quietly, and with downcast eyes, when the incident had passed. For in some matters she held old-fashioned notions, and was not one of the modern race of hail-fellow-well-met girls who are friendly in five minutes with men and women alike.
When she came within sight of her uncle, she suddenly hurried towards him, and made an affectionate, laughing attempt to prevent his returning