Driven to Bay, Volume III by Florence Marryat

Miss Vere was not only a clever woman, and a woman of the world, she was an excessively warm-hearted and generous woman, -- one who, with a large mind, could take pleasure in little things, and especially if they gave pleasure to others. All this was plainly typified by the interest she took in the _Pandora's_ theatricals, and the trouble she put herself to concerning them. She gained nothing by the act. She had reaped her own laurels on the public boards, and wanted no applause from private individuals. She was busy, moreover, with study for the New Zealand tour, and had no more time than was necessary for her own work. Yet she laid it all aside to coach her fellow-passengers in their parts; to design their dresses; to suggest the rough scenery, and even to superintend some of the preparations. The sailors had rigged up a temporary stage in the steerage, where they had been giving some uncouth performances themselves; and when the ladies and gentlemen proposed to act, Captain Robarts had given leave for it to be draped with the ship's flags to form a proscenium, whilst some of the men were told off to daub back canvases to serve as scenery for the different acts. It was difficult to place ‘The Rivals' on such a stage with any effect, but the difficulty seemed to enhance the excitement attendant on the amusement; and what with the ladies' energy and Miss Vere's suggestions, the dresses promised to be marvellous, considering the drawbacks placed in their way. For a week previous to the performance, the good-natured actress had always one or more of the aspirants for histrionic honours closeted with her in her private cabin, whilst she drilled them in tone and gesture until they were perfect in their parts.

And with no one had she taken more trouble than with Harold Greenwood. The poor little man had been so palpably ‘sent to Coventry' by his fellow-passengers, since the fright he had given them, that his forlorn condition had excited Miss Vere's compassion, and she had shown him all the more kindness in consequence. But she little knew the damage she was doing. Ever since their first meeting, Mr Greenwood had secretly worshipped the fascinating actress. She was just the sort of woman to attract a man of his calibre. Love invariably loves a contrast. She was big, and he was small. She was strong and energetic, and he was weak and incapable. She was full of mirth and humour, and he was romantically and sentimentally inclined. His nature unconsciously bowed before her strength and ability, and he mistook the feeling for something different; for magnetism, if it be not love itself, is quite as powerful, and more binding than the master passion. Had Mr Greenwood's fancy stopped there, it would have done no harm to anybody; but, unfortunately, he mistook Miss Vere's good-natured attempts to make him forget the _contretemps_ which every one else seemed determined he should remember, for a direct interest in his own puny little person, and plumed his feathers accordingly. His conceit and self-satisfaction became so offensively apparent, after the actress had invited him to her cabin, and coached him there, in some unimportant part for which she had cast him, just as a salve for his wounded vanity, that Jack Blythe, whom he chose as a _confidant_, felt inclined to kick him into the sea. The subject alone would have been a source of irritation to Blythe, without the mode in which Harold Greenwood conveyed it to him.