distant from her as the north star. When
I sat with her on deck at night, I seemed to feel Boyd Madras's face
looking at me from the half-darkness of the after-deck; and Mrs.
Falchion, whose keen eyes missed little, remarked once on my gaze in
that direction. Thereafter I was more careful, but the idea haunted
me. Yet, I was not the only person who sat with her. Other men paid her
attentive court. The difference was, however, that with me she assumed
ever so delicate, yet palpable an air of proprietorship, none the
less alluring because there was no heart in it. So far as the other
passengers were concerned, there was nothing jarring to propriety in
our companionship. They did not know of Number 116 Intermediate. She
had been announced as a widow; and she had told Mrs. Callendar that her
father's brother, who, years before, had gone to California, had died
within the past two years and left her his property; and, because all
Californians are supposed to be millionaires, her wealth was counted
fabulous. She was going now to England, and from there to California in
the following year. People said that Dr. Marmion knew on which side his
bread was buttered. They may have said more unpleasant things, but I did
not hear them, or of them.

All the time I was conscious of a kind of dishonour, and perhaps it was
that which prompted me (I had fallen away from my intention of visiting
him freely) to send my steward to see how Boyd Madras came on, rather
than go myself. I was, however, conscious that the position could
not--should not--be maintained long. The practical outcome of this
knowledge was not tardy. A new influence came into my life which was to
affect it permanently: but not without a struggle.

A series of concerts and lectures had been arranged for the voyage, and
the fancy-dress ball was to close the first part of the journey--that
is, at Aden. One night a concert was on in the music saloon. I had just
come from seeing a couple of passengers who had been suffering from the
heat, and was debating whether to find Mrs. Falchion, who, I knew, was
on the other side of the deck, go in to the concert, or join Colonel
Ryder and Clovelly, who had asked me to come to the smoking-room when I
could. I am afraid I was balancing heavily in favour of Mrs. Falchion,
when I heard a voice that was new to me, singing a song I had known
years before, when life was ardent, and love first came--halcyon days in
country lanes, in lilac thi