f a nasty row and all day a bit of rhyme has been
running through my brain." He paused a moment, then quoted:

"''Twas a cutlass swipe or an ounce of lead
Or a yawning hole in a battered head,
And the scuppers glut with a rotting red.

"'And there they lay while the soggy skies
Dreened all day long in upstaring eyes,
At murk sunset and at foul sunrise.'"

He broke off and laughed at himself unsteadily.

"Get your mind off it," I commanded shortly. "Fetch out the blank-book.
Let's read about her debut party."

But the passage at which the book fell open dealt with a time prior to
debuts. At the head of the page was pasted a newspaper clipping hinting
at personalities but giving no names.

"One of the most beautiful and popular members of the younger set in the
summer colony" had been capsized while sailing in the harbor. The youth
who accompanied her had been seized with cramps and she had kept not
only herself but her helpless escort above water until the tardy arrival
of help. Beneath, in her own hand, was scrawled:

"Did they expect me to drown him? I had to stand by, of course. What
else could a fellow do? But I spoiled a dress I look nice in. I'm sorry
for that."

Appended to this was a postscript so badly written that it was hard to
decipher. I could guess that her cheeks had colored as she wrote it.

"Maybe after all, I am a grandstander. I did get awfully tired--and I
pretended that _he_ was looking on, and was swimming out to help me."

"By Jove" snorted Mansfield, "she's a ripping good sort. I wonder who
she pretended was looking on."

"Turn back," I suggested. "It may tell."

But it was only after some searching that we found him duly catalogued,
and even then she gave him no name. Yet in trailing him through the
pages, we came to know her quite well, and to render sincere allegiance.
She was not at all conventional. She was one of those rare discoveries
upon which the prospector in life comes only when he strikes an El
Dorado. She dared to think her own thoughts and did not grow into the
stereotyped mold of imitation. We felt from the clean, instinctive
courage of her tone and view-point that if ill chance had marooned her
with us on this imperiled ship, she would bear herself more gallantly
than we could hope to do, and that she would tread these filthy decks
with no spots on the whiteness of her skirts.

In her early writings she had shown for something of a tomboy an