ss, and her white neck was like swansdown in its folded
frame of filmy black gauze. Over the glittering waves of her ash-blonde
hair she had thrown a long black veil of embroidered Spanish lace, which
fell nearly to her knees, and somehow, before she could close the door,
a gust blew it back, shutting in the veil. The girl was struggling to
free herself when Jim said, "Let me help you."

Naturally, she had to thank him, and explain how she ought to have
fastened her window, as ours was the windy side of the ship to-night.
She and I smiled at each other, and so our acquaintance began. I guessed
from the veil that she was dining in Murray's company, and pictured them
together with the deck to themselves, moonlight flooding the sea.

Next day the smile and nod which Mrs. Brandreth and I exchanged won a
pleasant look from Major Murray for me. We began speaking soon after
that; and before another day had passed Jim or I often dropped into the
empty chair, if Mrs. Brandreth was not on deck. Murray was interested to
know that we would be neighbours of his, and that I was the
grand-daughter of the famous beauty his old bachelor cousin had loved.

I remember it was the night after my first real talk with him that I met
Mrs. Brandreth again as we both opened our doors. Jim was playing bridge
or poker with some men, and hadn't noticed the dressing bugle. I was
ready, and going to remind him of the hour; yet I was charmed to be
delayed by Mrs. Brandreth. Hitherto, though friendly when we were with
our two men, or only one of them, she had seemed like a wild bird trying
to escape if we happened to be alone. It was as if she were afraid I
might ask questions which she would not wish to answer. But now she
stopped me of her own accord.

"I--I've been wanting to tell you something," she began, with one of her
bright blushes. "It's only this: when I'm tired or nervous I'm afraid I
talk in my sleep. I came on board tired out. I had--a great grief a few
months ago, and I can't get over the strain of it. Sometimes when I wake
up I find myself crying, and have an impression that I've called out.
Now I know that you're next door, I'm rather worried lest I have
disturbed you."

I hurried to reassure her. She hadn't disturbed me at all. I was, I
said, a splendid sleeper.

"You haven't heard anything?" she persisted.

I felt she would know I was fibbing if I did fib, so it wasn't worth
while. "I _have_ heard a sound like sobbing now and