from the fire as he could without jibing his chair, and through the
delicate haze of roasting tweed that surrounded him I could see
something wistfully appealing in his glance. The Lawyer, too, had a
mysterious shimmer in his loyal eyes, but his old training in the
P. and O. service had been too strong for him. He would never speak,
I felt sure, while his commanding officer had the floor.

I began to realize that, in a sense, the responsibility was mine.
The life of the sea--a curious contradiction. Trained from boyhood
to assume responsibility, but responsibility graded and duly
ascending through the ranks of command. Marlow, an old shipmaster,
and more than that, our host--a trying problem. If it had not been
for the presence of Mrs. Marlow, I could not have dared. But the
woman complicates the situation with all sorts of delicate reactions
of tact, conduct, and necessity. It is always so. Well. Humph!

But the apparition at the other end of the room was plainly in
trouble. A distressing sight, and I divined that the others were
relying on me. Mrs. Marlow, poor soul, her face had a piteous and
luminous appeal. It was, once more, the old and shocking question of
conflicting loyalties. There was nothing else to do. I shoved out
one foot, and the stand of fire-irons fell over with an appalling
clatter. Marlow broke off--somewhere near Manila, I think it was.

"Charlie, my dear," said Mrs. Marlow, "Don't you think we could
finish the story after dinner? The roast will be quite spoiled. The
maid has been waiting for nearly two hours...."


[Illustration]