required. She asked several questions, showing
a keen understanding of my explanations, and then, after a moment's
silence, said meditatively: "I think I like men better when they are
doing responsible work; it is difficult to be idle--and important too."

I saw very well that, with her, I should have to contend for a long time
against those first few weeks of dalliance on the 'Fulvia'.

Clovelly joined us, and for the first time--if I had not been so
egotistical it had appeared to me before--I guessed that his somewhat
professional interest in Belle Treherne had developed into a very
personal thing. And with that thought came also the conception of what
a powerful antagonist he would be. For it improves some men to wear
glasses; and Clovelly had a delightful, wheedling tongue. It was
allusive, contradictory (a thing pleasing to women), respectful yet
playful, bold yet reverential. Many a time I have longed for Clovelly's
tongue. Unfortunately for me, I learned some of his methods without
his art; and of this I am occasionally reminded at this day. A man like
Clovelly is dangerous as a rival when he is not in earnest; when he IS
in earnest, it becomes a lonely time for the other man--unless the girl
is perverse.

I left the two together, and moved about the deck, trying to think
closely about Roscoe's case, and to drive Clovelly's invasion from my
mind. I succeeded, and was only roused by Mrs. Falchion's voice beside
me.

"Does he suffer much?" she murmured.

When answered, she asked nervously how he looked--it was impossible that
she should consider misery without shrinking. I told her that he was
only flushed and haggard as yet and that he was little wasted. A thought
flashed to her face. She was about to speak, but paused. After a moment,
however, she remarked evenly: "He is likely to be delirious?"

"It is probable," I replied.

Her eyes were fixed on the search-light. The look in them was
inscrutable. She continued quietly: "I will go and see him, if you will
let me. Justine will go with me."

"Not now," I replied. "He is sleeping. To-morrow, if you will."

I did not think it necessary to tell her that Justine was at that moment
watching beside him. We walked the deck together in silence.

"I wonder," she said, "that you care to walk with me. Please do not make
the matter a burden."

She did not say this with any invitation to courteous protest on my
part, but rather with a cold frankness--for which,