dark and almost supper-time and we had
committed the heinous crime of not appearing for tea, so, when we were
told to go at once to see our grandmother, and stumbled just as we
were, tired and dusty, hair on end and stockings at our ankles into
the quiet room where she sat knitting fleecy white things by the table
with the lamp, we expected nothing better than to be sent straight to
bed, probably supperless. Our grandmother laid down her knitting, took
off her spectacles, and instead of the rebuke we expected and deserved
said, "Bairns, come away in. I'm sure you must be tired." It had been
an unsuccessful day; we had found no treasure, not even the World's
End; the night had fallen damp, with an eerily sighing wind which
depressed us vaguely as we trudged homewards; but now, the black night
shut out, there was the fire-light and the lamp-light, the kind old
voice, and the delicious sense of having come home.

All things considered, you are a young man greatly to be envied,
also at the present moment to be scolded. How can you possibly allow
yourself to think such silly things? You must have a most exaggerated
idea of my charms if you think every man on board must be in love with
me. Men aren't so impressionable. Did you think that when my well-nigh
unearthly beauty burst on them they would fall on their knees and
with one voice exclaim, "Be mine!" I assure you no one has ever even
thought of doing anything of the kind, and if they had _I wouldn't
tell you_. I know you are only chaffing, but I do so hate all that
sort of thing, and to hear people talk of their "conquests" is
revolting. One of the nicest things about G. is that she doesn't care
a bit to philander about with men. She and I are much happier talking
to each other, a fact which people seem to find hard to believe.

My attention is being diverted from my writing by a lady sitting a few
yards away--the Candle we call her because so many silly young moths
hover round. She is a buxom person, with very golden hair growing
darker towards the roots, hard blue eyes, and a powdery white face. G.
and I are intensely interested to know what is the attraction about
her, for no one can deny there is one. She isn't young; the gods have
not made her fair, and I doubt of her honesty; yet from the first she
has been surrounded by men--most of them, I grant you, unfinished
youths bound to offices in Calcutta, but still men. I thought it might
be her brilliant conversation,