cast down his eyes
when he saw his master had noticed the glance. Stranleigh spoke coldly
and clearly.

"How many new suits have you provided for me?"

"Thirty-seven, my lord."

"Very well. Clear out one or two boxes, and pack a dress-suit and two
or three ordinary suits; in fact, costume the Hon. John Hazel just as
you would costume me. Call a steward, and order the box to be taken to
his room. Lay out for him an everyday garb, and get all this done as
quickly as possible."

His lordship proceeded leisurely to the upper deck once more, and found
Hazel just as he had left him, except that he was now gazing at the
fleeting shore, green and village-studded, of the Isle of Wight.

"Here you are," said Stranleigh breezily, handing the Hon. John the
cabin ticket.

There was a weak strain in Hazel's character, otherwise he would never
had come to the position in which he found himself, and he now exhibited
the stubbornness which has in it the infallible signs of giving way.

"I really cannot accept it," he said, his lower lip trembling
perceptibly.

"Tut, tut! It's all settled and done with. Your room is No. 4390. You
will find your bag there, and also a box from my habitation. Come
along--I'll be your valet. Luncheon will be on shortly, and I want your
company."

Stranleigh turned away, and Hazel followed him.

Cabin 4390 could not be compared with the luxurious suite that
Stranleigh was to occupy, yet, despite the purser's hesitation to
overpraise it, the cabin was of a size and promise of comfort that would
have been found in few liners a decade ago. Ponderby was on hand, and
saved his master the fag of valeting, and when finally the Hon. John
emerged, he was quite his old jaunty self again--a well-dressed man who
would not have done discredit even to the Camperdown Club.

"I have secured a place for you," said Stranleigh, "next to myself at
the doctor's table. I flatter myself on having made this transfer with
more tact than I usually display, for I am somewhat stupid in the main,
trusting others to carry out my ideas rather than endeavouring to shine
as a diplomatist myself. The purser--the only official aware of the
change--thinks you made a bet to go over steerage, and will probably
forget all about the matter. The question is, under what name shall I
introduce you to the doctor?"

"What would you advise?" asked Hazel. "The name on my steerage ticket is
William Jones."

"Oh, that's no good as a _nom d