band's property was hers.
How often she had wondered whether he knew or not, feeling sure that he
MUST have heard the news at some of the many ports he had put into
since it had become a matter of public knowledge, and why he allowed
days and weeks, even months, to pass without making a sign. There had
always been the cables, anyway. She put it down to his delicacy, his
sense of the awkwardness of the situation, his consideration for her.

"We will have tea first," she said, touching the bell-button. "Then we
shall not be disturbed any more. We can talk till dinner-time. Oh, how
I wish you could stay for dinner, and a long, long evening! But it is
better not to do things of that sort yet, don't you think? Better not
to run risks of making scandal now that there's no longer any need for
it."

"Much better," said Captain Carey firmly.

"And, after all, there are lots of ways that we can meet without doing
anything improper. I have thought of heaps. I can go to Sydney--I can
go home, for that matter; I am a perfectly free agent. And we have now
less than three-quarters of a year. Guthrie, I want you to let me have
the twelve months good. It is a long wait, I know, but we should feel
the benefit of it afterwards--"

"Hush-sh!"

She glanced down the room in alarm, and saw the door open to admit the
servant she had summoned. He brought teapot and kettle, hot cakes and
muffins, and arranged them with unnecessary carefulness on the little
table by the fireside. Hostess and guest watched his slow manoeuvres
with an impatient but fascinated gaze, and tried to think about
something to talk about for his edification, and could not.

"Thank you, Willis; that will do, Willis. I'll ring if I want anything
else. I don't know, Captain Carey, whether you are one of those people
who despise tea and cake--"

They were alone once more. Captain Carey refused the proffered
refreshment. Mrs Ewing, making no effort to persuade him, took a few
mouthfuls hastily; then she set her cup down, and with a quick flirt of
the hand, extinguished the two pink lamps. They were old-fashioned
gas-lamps too.

"We don't want lights to talk by," she said, in a casual way. "The
firelight is enough. I think firelight at this hour so much the
pleasantest, don't you?"

"Oh, yes," he responded desperately, and indeed was glad of the shelter
of a shadow on his face; but he said to himself, with clenched hands
and a long indrawn breath, "Now comes the tug-