"I consider the type in connection with the person."

"Exactly. The person is the thing. That clears up the matter of
business and art. But now, as to Miss Treherne: I want to say that,
having been admitted to her acquaintance and that of her father, I have
thought of them only as friends, and not as 'characters' or 'copy.'"

"I beg your pardon, Clovelly," said I. "I might have known."

"Now, to prove how magnanimous I am, I shall introduce you to Miss
Treherne, if you will let me. You've met her father, I suppose?"
he added, and tossed his cigar overboard.

"Yes, I have talked with him. He is a courteous and able man, I should
think."

We rose. Presently he continued: "See, Miss Treherne is sitting there
with the Tasmanian widow--what is HER name?"

"Mrs. Callendar," I replied. "Blackburn, the Queenslander, is joining
them."

"So much the better," he said. "Come on."

As we passed the music saloon, we paused for an instant to look through
the port-hole at a pale-faced girl with big eyes and a wonderful bright
red dress, singing "The Angels' Serenade," while an excitable bear-leader
turned her music for her. Near her stood a lanky girl who adored actors
and tenors, and lived in the hope of meeting some of those gentlemen of
the footlights, who plough their way so calmly through the hearts of