The Vultures | Page 5

Netty Cahere came on
deck. She was accompanied by the fourth officer, a clean-built,
clean-shaven young man, who lost his heart every time he crossed the
Atlantic. He was speaking rather earnestly to Miss Cahere, who
listened with an expression of puzzled protest on her pretty face. She
had wondering blue eyes and a complexion of the most delicate pink
and white which never altered. She was slightly built, and carried
herself in a subtly deprecating manner, as if her own opinion of herself
were small, and she wished the world to accept her at that valuation.
She made no sign of having perceived her uncle, but nevertheless
dismissed the fourth officer, who reluctantly mounted the 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