tinguished in the blue haze
that preceded sunrise. The distance between the coastline and the
steamer, which was now running at full speed, was hardly compatible with
an intention to make for an English port. Miss Nettle's Sunday walks and
talks with a sailor sweetheart had given her a smattering of sea-lore,
and she did not like the look of it. But she was there to assert
herself, and did not mean to haul down her colours without striking a
blow.

"Drat you for a fairy godfather--you and your Maharanees!" she
exclaimed, with a well-feigned indifference to the larger issue, "It's
me and my young man I'm thinking about. When do you run into Plymouth,
so that I can send my letter?"

"Is it written?" Brant grinned down at her.

"That won't take five minutes. It will be ready long before you can put
me within reach of a post office."

Brant grinned again as he followed the direction of her gesture towards
the distant land.

"Then don't trouble to write it," he croaked. "I admire your cheek so
that I'd break orders for you if I could. But there's five thousand
pounds to it, my dear, and the _Cobra_ isn't going to call at Plymouth
or any other port till we dump our cargo. If you want a young man, I've
no doubt you can be accommodated on board, or if there's none here to
your fancy, perhaps the lady will fix you up with a blacky husband in
India."

Miss Jimpson's eyes glinted. "Is that your last word?" she said.

"As to calling at Plymouth? Yes, it's my very last word; and now you can
start abusing me. I rather like it," came down the captain's shrill
treble. And he added maliciously, "We passed the opening of Plymouth
Sound an hour ago if it's any use to you to know it."

The girl turned on her heel without further waste of breath. She had
never in her heart relied on the miscreant's promise, but she had clung
to it as the last chance. And now their last chance had failed. CHAPTER
XXVI

ENID IS "MIXED UP"

Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Mallory were too accustomed to their daughter's
erratic habits to be perturbed by her non-appearance at the
dinner-table. It came natural to them to account for her absence by an
invitation, given and accepted on the spur of the moment, to spend an
informal evening at the house of some friend, and they would be quite
satisfied if she turned up any time before midnight.

It was Mr. Mallory's practice on three evenings of the week to go down
to the club after dinner to enjoy a little bridg