.

"I am sorry," he said, "but to tell you the truth," he added, glancing
towards Quest, "I fancied that you were feeling about the same."

"We women are poor dissemblers," Lenora murmured. "Do look how angry this
old woman seems."

An elderly lady, dressed in somewhat oppressive black, with a big cameo
brooch at her throat and a black satin bag in her hand, was being shown by
the steward to a seat by Quest's side. She acknowledged the Captain's
greeting acidly.

"Good evening, Captain," she said. "I understood from the second steward
that the seat on your right hand would be reserved for me. I am Mrs.
Foston Rowe."

The Captain received the announcement calmly.

"Very pleased to have you at the table, madam," he replied. "As to the
seating, I leave that entirely to the steward. I never interfere myself."

Laura pinched his arm, and Lenora glanced away to hide a smile. Mrs.
Foston Rowe studied the menu disapprovingly.

"Hors d'oeuvres," she declared, "I never touch. No one knows how long
they've been opened. Bouillon--I will have some bouillon, steward."

"In one moment, madam."

The Professor just then came ambling along towards the table.

"I fear that I am a few moments late," he remarked, as he took the chair
next to Mrs. Foston Rowe. "I offer you my apologies, Captain. I
congratulate you upon your library. I have discovered a most interesting
book upon the habits of seagulls. It kept me engrossed until the very last
moment."

"Very disagreeable habits, those I've noticed," Mrs. Foston Rowe sniffed.

"Madam," the Professor assured her, "yours is but a superficial view. For
myself, I must confess that the days upon which I learn something new in
life are days of happiness for me. To-day is an example; I have learnt
something new about seagulls, and I am hungry."

"Well, you'll have to stay hungry a long time at this table, then," Mrs.
Foston Rowe snapped. "Seems to me that the service is going to be
abominable."

The steward, who had just arrived, presented a cup of bouillon to Quest.
The others had all been served. Quest stirred it thoughtfully.

"And as to the custom," Mrs. Foston Rowe continued, "of serving gentlemen
before ladies, it is, I suppose, peculiar to this steamer."

Quest hastily laid down his spoon, raised the cup of bouillon and
presented it with a little bow to his neighbour.

"Pray allow me, madam," he begged. "The steward was to blame."

Mrs. Foston Rowe did not hesitate for