ht into the feminine mind. All I
know is that she looks rather pale, and she has grown uncommonly quiet.
At times she has restless moods of rather forced gaiety. But the reason
for it all, I'm afraid, is beyond me."

"Do you remember d'Auvergne?" asked his nephew suddenly. "Podgie
d'Auvergne. He spent a summer leave with us once, and he used to come up
to town a good deal from Whale Island when he was there. Do you think
Cecily is in love with him?"

"Bless me," said Sir William helplessly, "I don't know. I never remember
her saying so. Do you think that would account for--for her present
mood? Women are such curious beings----"

"I know he's fearfully gone on her," said James, "but he lost a foot
early in the war. He hasn't been near her since."

"Why not?" asked the Scientist vaguely.

"Oh, because--because he's fearfully sensitive about it. And he's
frightfully in love with her. You see, a thing like that tells
enormously when a fellow's in love."

"Does it?" enquired Sir William. "Well, granted that your theory is
correct, I fail to see what I am to do. I can't kidnap this young man
and carry him to my house like the alien visitor you once brought to
disturb my peaceful slumbers."

"Ah," said James, "Crabpots!" He chuckled retrospectively.

"If he has really developed a neurotic view of his injury, as you imply,"
continued the older man, "it's no use my inviting him, because he would
only refuse to come."

"You'll have to work it somehow," replied his nephew. "Sea voyages
aren't safe enough just now--we'd never forgive ourselves if we let
Cecily go and anything happened to her--or Podgie either," he added
grimly.

By twos and threes the members of the Mess had risen from the table and
drifted into the ante-room to play bridge, or to their cabins, there to
write letters, read, or occupy themselves in wood-carving and kindred
pursuits. At a small table in the comer of the long Mess the officers of
the Second Dog Watch had finished a belated meal, and were yarning in low
voices over their port.

James and his uncle alone remained seated at the long table.

"Well," said the former, "let's move on, Uncle Bill. Would you like a
rubber of bridge?"

"I can play bridge in London," replied his guest, rising. "No, Jim, I
think I'd like to take this opportunity of paying a visit to the Gunroom.
When you are my age you'll find a peculiar fascination about youth and
its affairs. Do you think th