ain't doing so badly now, I leave it to you."

And it wasn't. The northern quadrant was a great fen of colour and
cloud, that spread ribs of feathery pink, fleece-frilled, from the
horizon to the zenith. It was all amazing. Four sunsets at the one
time in the sky! Each quadrant glowed, and burned, and pulsed with a
sunset distinctly its own.

And as the colours dulled in the slow twilight, the moon, still
misty, wept tears of brilliant, heavy silver into the dim lilac sea.
And then came the hush of darkness and the night, and we came to
ourselves, out of reverie, sated with beauty, leaning toward each
other as we leaned upon the rail side by side.


I never grow tired of watching Captain West. In a way he bears a
sort of resemblance to several of Washington's portraits. He is six
feet of aristocratic thinness, and has a very definite, leisurely and
stately grace of movement. His thinness is almost ascetic. In
appearance and manner he is the perfect old-type New England
gentleman.

He has the same gray eyes as his daughter, although his are genial
rather than warm; and his eyes have the same trick of smiling. His
skin is pinker than hers, and his brows and lashes are fairer. But
he seems removed beyond passion, or even simple enthusiasm. Miss
West is firm, like her father; but there is warmth in her firmness.
He is clean, he is sweet and courteous; but he is coolly sweet,
coolly courteous. With all his certain graciousness, in cabin or on
deck, so far as his social equals are concerned, his graciousness is