ays
did that, eh?

"Go away, Bos'," he said, suddenly. "You got to be about to-night, you
know. We'll be anchoring...."

He forgot what he was saying, staring hard at the chart. Plouff slipped
down into the fog and clattered away forward.

But Mr. Spokesly was not unhappy. There was an unfamiliar yet desirable
quality about this life. The sharp flavour of it made one forget both
the ethical and economic aspects of one's existence. At the back of his
mind was a boyish desire to show that girl what he was made of. And when
they got to Athens he would----Athens! The word sent him back to the
chart. Keep on the course. He was sailing across a wide ocean and the
old familiar landmarks were hull down behind the fog. There was
something symbolic in that fog. It was as though he had indeed left the
world of his youth behind, the world of warm English hearts, of
cantankerous affections and dislikes, of fine consciences and delicate
social distinctions, and was passing through a confusing and impalpable
region of vaporous uncertainty to an unknown country. He was not
unhappy. The future might be anything, from silken dalliance behind
green jalousies in some oriental villa with a fountain making soft
music, which is the food of love, to a sudden detonation, red spurts of
savage flame, and a grave in a cold sea. He went out and looked at the
compass. And at the fog. Now that Plouff was gone down he felt lonely.
He stamped on the deck to call the steward. The captain would have to be
called. If he did not come, he, the mate, would go down and inform him
that the course would be changed without him. That would be the only
way. He had never had a commander like this, nor a voyage like this, for
that matter. He paused suddenly in his thoughts and looked down,
pinching his lower lip between finger and thumb. He had an idea. To
achieve anything, one had to be eternally prepared for just such
unexpected predicaments. Here he was, with an invisible commander and an
invisible horizon. And down in a cabin below him was Evanthia Solaris, a
distinct and formidable problem. He was going to marry her. He saw his
destiny, almost for the first time in his life, as a ball which he could
take in his hand and throw. And the direction and distance depended
entirely upon his own strength, his own skill, his own fortitude. He was
going to marry her. And he saw another thing for the first time--that
marriage was of no significance in itself for a man.