coverlet--they reclined together a great deal in their elongated
chairs--well over her feet. How free an American lady was to choose
her company she abundantly proved by not knowing any one on the
steamer but Count Otto.

He could see for himself that Mr. and Mrs. Day had not at all her
grand air. They were fat plain serious people who sat side by side
on the deck for hours and looked straight before them. Mrs. Day had
a white face, large cheeks and small eyes: her forehead was
surrounded with a multitude of little tight black curls; her lips
moved as if she had always a lozenge in her mouth. She wore
entwined about her head an article which Mrs. Dangerfield spoke of
as a "nuby," a knitted pink scarf concealing her hair, encircling
her neck and having among its convolutions a hole for her perfectly
expressionless face. Her hands were folded on her stomach, and in
her still, swathed figure her little bead-like eyes, which
occasionally changed their direction, alone represented life. Her
husband had a stiff grey beard on his chin and a bare spacious upper
lip, to which constant shaving had imparted a hard glaze. His
eyebrows were thick and his nostrils wide, and when he was
uncovered, in the saloon, it was visible that his grizzled hair was
dense and perpendicular. He might have looked rather grim and
truculent hadn't it been for the mild familiar accommodating gaze
with which his large light-coloured pupils--the leisurely eyes of a
silent man--appeared to consider surrounding objects. He was
evidently more friendly than fierce, but he was more diffident than
friendly. He liked to have you in sight, but wouldn't have
pretended to understand you much or to classify you, and would have
been sorry it should put you under an obligation. He and his wife
spoke sometimes, but seldom talked, and there was something vague