salito with the
electric train for Yolanda left at three-forty-five. She had no time to
lose; it was a good ten minutes' walk from the office to the ferry and
little to be gained by taking a street-car. She managed her preparations
for departure successfully, but in the end she had to ask Miss Munch to
telephone her mother. Miss Munch assented with an alarmingly sweet
smile.

Claire walked briskly down California Street toward the ferry-building.
No rain had fallen, but the air was full of ominous promise. The wind
was even brisker than it had been in the morning, and its breath almost
tropically moist.

"At sundown it will simply pour," thought Claire, as she exchanged fifty
cents for a ticket to Yolanda.

She presented her ticket at the entrance to the waiting-room and passed
in. The passageway to the boat was already open; she went at once and
found a sheltered corner outside on the upper deck. A strong sea was
running and already the ferryboat was plunging and straining like a
restless bloodhound in leash. The air was full of screaming gulls and
the clipped whistling of restless bay craft. Claire was so intent on all
this elemental agitation that she took no notice of the people about
her, but as the boat slid lumberingly out of the slip she was recalled
by a voice close at hand saying:

"Why, Miss Robson, who would think of seeing you here at this hour!"

Claire turned and discovered Miss Munch's cousin sitting beside her,
intent on the inevitable tatting.

"Oh, Mrs. Richards, how stupid of me! Have you been here long?"

"About ten minutes. But I get so interested in my work I never have eyes
for anything else. How do you put in the time? A trip like this is so
tiresome!"

Claire delved into her bag and brought out knitting-needles and an
unfinished sock.

"I'm trying a hand at this," she admitted, holding her handiwork up
ruefully. "But I'm afraid I'm not very skilful."

Mrs. Richards inspected the sock with critical disapproval.

"Oh, well," she encouraged, "you'll learn ... practice makes perfect.
I've just finished a half-dozen pairs. I suppose I'm laying myself out
for a roast doing tatting in public _these_ war days! But it's restful
and I'm not one to pretend. As long as my conscience is clear I can
afford to be perfectly independent.... You don't make this trip every
night, do you?"

"Oh my, no! I'm going over to Mr. Flint's to take some dictation. He's
home sick."

"I saw Mrs. Flint and t