next him look at his watch.

"What time do you make it?" asked Percival, and his voice sounded almost
strange to him.

"Eleven," said the man, getting to his feet; "aboot time for the fun to
begin in the bathing-tank."

Ordinarily Percival would have allowed the conversation to end there,
but he felt now that he would be risking his sanity if he sat there any
longer counting raindrops.

"What's taking place?" he asked listlessly.

"The usual morning diversion: the captain's daughter is teaching a
couple of bairns to swim."

"Surely they won't go in on a beastly day like this!"

"I'll be bound they do. Shall we go find out?"

Forward a number of people were already hanging over the rail, highly
diverted at what was taking place in the big canvas tank on the deck
below. Percival, looking down, beheld the young person standing on
the lower rung of a ladder, coaxing a small boy to jump from the
platform above. Now, on several occasions in the past Percival had met
Disillusion face to face in a bathing-suit. A certain attenuated memory
of the faithless Hortense made him wince even yet. But the round and
graceful figure poised in dancing impatience on the ladder-rung defied
criticism. Much as he disapproved of the public exhibition, he could not