finds out then what he is really made of.

"And Rosa was excited too, for it meant we could soon get married and
live in passable comfort almost anywhere we liked. It was a happy time
for us. You see, we had grown accustomed to each other's ways and
habits. We had struck a sort of average, and knew pretty well what
pleased and what jarred each other. That, I imagine, is one of the
secrets of living with a woman. Being simply considerate won't do,
though, of course, it is necessary. But what a woman does hate is being
startled with some fresh habit or idea. It spoils her illusion, her
necessary illusion, that she knows all about you.

"I did not tell her anything of my successful brother's performances,
though I have heard that a man always tells his sweetheart all the
disreputable side of his family history. What he forgets to tell her she
worms out of him after they are married. It may be so. I must be an
exception, then. As I have said, Rosa was curious about England, and in
trying to answer her questions I discovered I didn't know very much
about England myself. But I said nothing about our family and their poor
luck with their women. Perhaps I divined what an attractive tale my
successful brother's escapades would seem to a romantic girl. There was
a dare-devil glamour about everything my brother did that fascinates
some minds. Indeed, it fascinated mine. But I was cured of glamour. My
early love affair had left me a feeling of panicky fear of romance.
Perhaps there is Puritan blood in us; but I feel that passion in itself
is evil. I wanted no more of it. I looked forward to domestic life, my
own vine and fig tree. Some day, I dreamed, I might write another little
book. At night, when all was running smooth, I'd put down odds and
ends.... Some day, perhaps. I don't think I shall fret, though, if
nothing comes of it.

"I liked my new job. The _Callisto_ was a much bigger ship than the
_Corydon_, and more modern. Certainly cattle are very unpleasant cargo,
and when we came into Genoa Harbour and the ship was being cleaned up,
you could smell her clear away to the Galleria Mazzini! But at sea, on
the long run south to Buenos Ayres, it was none so bad. I was looking
forward to my marriage, you see. I was saving money and I was beginning
to forget the past. It is easier for a seaman to do that than for anyone
ashore. A sailor's past is all in pieces, so to speak. He can drop it
bit by bit. But when you live ashore in