'Brenda, what are you thinking about?' It was hardly a question. The intonation of Mrs. Wylie's voice was by no means interrogative, and she returned placidly to the perusal of her novel without awaiting a reply. The ladies had been reading silently for at least an hour, until the younger of the two allowed her book to lie unheeded on her knee, while the pages fluttered in the breeze. The remark called forth by this action was accepted literally and as a question. 'I was thinking of Theo Trist, ' replied the girl gravely. She did not meet her companion's gaze, but looked wistfully across the fjord towards the bleak dismal cliffs. Mrs. Wylie closed her novel on one white plump finger and drummed idly upon the back of it with the other hand. In movement and repose alike this lady was essentially comfortable. Her presence suggested contentment and prosperity amidst the most unpropitious environments. The Hermione, her temporary home, a broad, slow-sailing schooner-yacht, was, below decks, conducted on the principles of a luxurious, roomy house. She had a wonderful way with her, this plump and smiling lady, of diffusing into the very atmosphere a sense of readiness to meet all emergencies. The elements, even, seemed to bow to her. Overhead the winds might roar and moan aloud through stay and rigging-all around the waves might leap and throw themselves against the staunch low bulwarks of the yacht-but in the cabin was warm comfort; and with it, dainty womanly ways. Mrs. Wylie proved most effectually that at sea, in fair weather and in foul, a woman can be a woman still.