never possessed a cigarette
case, such things were to be turned into money too easily. His hands
were trembling as he struck a match.

"Yes--I--t-told him," he said jerkily.

"What did you say about me?" she asked curiously.

He pondered for a moment. At last he decided to be honest.

"I didn't tell him."

"Didn't you, Louis?" she said, looking hurt. "Why?"

"He'd only think you were a waster. He wouldn't think anyone but a
waster would marry me. If I told him you were a Scotch farmer's daughter
he'd picture something in short skirts, red cheeks and bare legs that
talked like Harry Lauder. Or else he'd think I was lying, and had got
off with a barmaid and wasn't married at all, and was living on some
girl. They'd always think the worst of me, at home. I'm not even going
to tell the Mater--"

She thought for some minutes.

"I don't much care," she said at last. "I think your father's rather a
horrible man, but I may be wrong about him. My impressions of him are
formed from yours, you see. It seems that no one but a most inhuman man
could kick his son out. But then--well, I don't know just how much you
worried him. But I'd have liked you to tell your mother. She looked so
grieved that day on the tender, and she was crying so miserably. I'd
have liked her to know you were taken care of."

"She wouldn't believe it, either, Marcella," he said gloomily. "And you
don't know my Mater. The very fact that you were in the steerage would
make her think you couldn't possibly be any good in the world. If I told
her you cleaned spoons and forks for a steward she'd think you did it
from habit because you'd been someone's servant. They've no
imagination--"

"All mothers have, I'm sure," she told him. "I'd have liked your mother
to be my friend. I'd have liked to write to her about you--"

"God forbid," he said fervently, and once more she gave way.

Later on that day they discussed ways and means. His definite picture of
getting married and staying in hotels in Sydney had made the dream
concrete. She had hitherto simply seen them both glittering along in an
aura of Deliverance. Right at the back of her mind she still clung to
pictures of knightly mail, obtained from she had not the slightest idea
where. But that fitted badly with hotels in Sydney and conventions he
was going to teach her. In the evening they went to their favourite seat
on the anchor and watched the phosphorescence shimmering away in ghostly
paths to the