Warburton's heart hadn't thrilled so since the day when he first
donned cadet gray. There was scarce any room for her to pass between
his chair and the rail; and this knowledge filled the rascal with
exultation. Nearer and nearer she came. He drew in his breath sharply
as the corner of his foot-rest (aided by the sly wind) caught her
raincoat.

"I beg your pardon!" he said, sitting up.

She quickly released her coat, smiled faintly, and passed on.

Sometimes the most lasting impressions are those which are printed
most lightly on the memory. Mr. Robert says that he never will forget
that first smile. And he didn't even know her name then.

I was about to engage your attention with a description of the
villain, but on second thought I have decided that it would be rather
unfair. For at that moment he was at a disadvantage. Nature was
punishing him for a few shortcomings. The steward that night informed
Warburton, in answer to his inquiries, that he, the villain, was
dreadfully seasick, and was begging him, the steward, to scuttle the
ship and have done with it. I have my doubts regarding this. Mr.
Robert is inclined to flippancy at times. It wasn't seasickness; and
after all is said and done, it is putting it harshly to call this man
a villain. I recant. True villainy is always based upon selfishness.
Remember this, my wise ones.

Warburton was somewhat subdued when he learned that the suffering
gentleman was _her_ father.