o the
rail, his heart growing lighter at every moment. His ubiquitous steward,
laden with hand luggage, paused for a moment.

"I sent a gentleman down to your stateroom just before the steamer
started, sir," he announced, "gentleman of the name of Gayes, who wanted
to say good-by to you."

"Bad luck!" Philip answered. "I must have just missed him."

The steward turned around and pointed to the quay.

"There he is, sir--elderly gentleman in a grey suit, and a bunch of
violets in his buttonhole. He's looking straight at you."

Philip raised his cap and waved it with enthusiasm. After a moment's
hesitation, the other man did the same. The steward collected his
belongings and shuffled off.

"He picked you out, sir, all right," he remarked as he disappeared in the
companionway.

Philip turned away with a little final wave of the hand.

"Glad I didn't miss him altogether," he observed cheerfully.
"Good-afternoon, Mr. Gayes! Good-by, England!"

CHAPTER IV

Mr. Raymond Greene, very soon after the bugle had sounded for dinner that
evening, took his place at the head of one of the small tables in the
saloon and wished every one good evening. It was perfectly apparent that
he meant to enjoy the trip, that he was prepared to like his fellow
passengers and that he wished them to know it. Even the somewhat
melancholy-looking steward, who had been waiting for his arrival, cheered
up at the sight of his beaming face, and the other four occupants of the
table returned his salutation according to their lights.

"Two vacant places, I am sorry to see," Mr. Greene observed. "One of them
I can answer for, though. The young lady who is to sit on my right will
be down directly--Miss Elizabeth Dalstan, the great actress, you know.
She is by way of being under my charge. Very charming and talented
young lady she is. Let us see who our other absentee is."

He stretched across and glanced at the name upon the card.

"Mr. Douglas Romilly," he read out. "Quite a good name--English, without
a doubt. I have crossed with you before, haven't I, sir?" he went on
affably, turning to his nearest neighbour on the left.

A burly, many-chinned American signified his assent.

"Why, I should say so," he admitted, "and I'd like a five-dollar bill,
Mr. Greene, for every film I've seen of yours in the United States."

Mr. Greene beamed with satisfaction.

"Well, I am glad to hear you've come across my stuff," he declared. "I've
made some n