ople
possess--certainly a good deal more than I possess, I suppose you are
sure of her."

Jim did not reply to this, but he said presently, "If it wasn't for the
death duties I should have hoped to be married before this."

"I'll tell you what I don't understand," said Mackenzie. "I suppose you
live in much the same way as your father did before you."

"Yes. My mother lives with me, and my sister."

"Well, surely you _could_ get married if you wanted to. You've got your
house and everything, even if there isn't quite so much money to spend
for a bit. And as for ready money--it doesn't cost nothing to travel for
a year as you're doing."

"Oh, an uncle of mine paid for that," said Jim. "I got seedy after my
father's death. There was a lot of worry, and--and I was fond of the old
man. The doctors told me to go off. I'm all right now. As for the
rest--well, there are such things as jointures and dowries. No, I
couldn't marry, giving my wife and my mother and sister everything they
ought to have, before another year. Even then it will be a close thing;
I shall have to be careful."

They fell silent. The dark mass of the ship's hull beneath them slipped
on through the water, drawing ever nearer towards home. The moon climbed
still higher into the sky. "Well, we've had an interesting talk," said
Mackenzie, drawing himself up. "What you have told me is all so entirely
different from anything that would ever happen in my life. If I wanted
to marry a girl I should marry her, and let the money go hang. She'd
have to share and share. But I dare say when I want a thing I want it
for the moment a good deal more than you do; and, generally, I see that
I get it. Now I think I shall turn in. Give me ten minutes."

He went down to the cabin they both occupied. As he undressed he said to
himself, "Rather a triumph, drawing a story like that from a fellow like
that. And Lord, _what_ a story! He deserves to lose her. I should like
to hear her side of it."

Jim Graham smoked another cigarette, walking round the deck. He felt
vaguely dissatisfied with himself for having made a confidant of
Mackenzie, and at the same time relieved at having given vent to what he
had shut up for so long in the secret recesses of his mind.

A day or two later the two men parted at Tilbury. They had not again
mentioned the subject of their long conversation in the Bay of Biscay.

CHAPTER III

THE CLINTONS OF KENCOTE

Cicely was returning ho