"A friend of yours, my dear?" she asked, innocently. "Suppose you
introduce us to each other."

Clara confusedly introduced the young gentleman.

"Mr. Francis Aldersley, Lucy. Mr. Aldersley belongs to the Arctic
expedition."

"Attached to the expedition?" Mrs. Crayford repeated. "I am
attached to the expedition too--in my way. I had better introduce
myself, Mr. Aldersley, as Clara seems to have forgotten to do it
for me. I am Mrs. Crayford. My husband is Lieutenant Crayford, of
the _Wanderer_. Do you belong to that ship?"

"I have not the honor, Mrs. Crayford. I belong to the _Sea-mew_."

Mrs. Crayford's superb eyes looked shrewdly backward and forward
between Clara and Francis Aldersley, and saw the untold sequel to
Clara's story. The young officer was a bright, handsome,
gentleman-like lad. Just the person to seriously complicate the
difficulty with Richard Wardour! There was no time for making any
further inquiries. The band had begun the prelude to the waltz,
and Francis Aldersley was waiting for his partner. With a word of
apology to the young man, Mrs. Crayford drew Clara aside for a
moment, and spoke to her in a whisper.

"One word, my dear, before you return to the ball-room. It may
sound conceited, after the little you have told me; but I think I
understand your position _now_, better than you do yourself. Do
you want to hear my opinion?"