is obvious hint,
Ethel Dent supplied the word, without charity for her luckless
chaperon. "Horridly seasick." She pointed out to the level
steely-gray sea. "And on this duck-pond," she added.

Her accent was expressive. Weldon laughed.

"Perhaps she isn't as used to the duck-pond as you are."

The girl brushed a lock of vivid gold hair from her eyes; then she
sat up, to add emphasis to her words. "Miss Arthur has been to
America and back seven times and to Australia once," she said
conclusively.

"As globe-trotter, or as commercial traveller?"

"Neither. As professional chaperon. When she applied for me, she stated--"
The girl caught her breath and stopped short.

"Well?" he asked encouragingly. She shook her head. Again, for an
instant, Weldon could see the humanity beneath the veneering.
Moreover, he liked what he saw. The blue eyes were honest and
steady. One mocking dimple belied the gravity of the firm lips.

"What did she state?" he asked again.

"It's not manners to tell tales about one's companion," she demurred.

"Not if you spell it with a little c. With a capital, it becomes
professional, and you can say what you choose. Miss Arthur is
a righteous lady; nevertheless, she is a bit professional.
And you were saying that the lady stated--"

"That she never had been seasick in her life."

"Oh. And did she also produce certificates as to her moral
character? Or is fibbing merely bad form nowadays?"

With swift inconsequence, the girl shifted to the other side of the
discussion.

"Of course, this may be a first attack."

"Of course," Weldon assented gravely. But again she shifted her
ground. "Only," she continued, with her eyes thoughtfully fixed on
the distant, impersonal point where sea and sky met; "only it is a
little strange that, yesterday, I heard her tell the stewardess she
never took beeftea when she was seasick."

"Oh." Weldon's eyes joined hers on the sky-line. "I have heard of
similar cases before."

"She offered to come on deck," Ethel went on quietly. "It was
generous of her, for she knew I was left entirely alone.
Nevertheless, I persuaded her that she was better off in her berth."

Leaning back in the chair of the absent invalid, Weldon watched his
companion out of the corners of his eyes and rejoiced at the change
in her. Even while he rejoiced, he marvelled. A Canadian by birth
and education, he had rarely come in contact with English girls. At
first, he had been totally at