the waves to throw it up to them in spray. They looked down into deep
blue and green water glassing a sky warm now, and friendly, in which high
white cumuli sailed slowly, like full-rigged ships all but becalmed.

"It is a very commonplace story with us," Mary began. "Mother died a
little time after Isobel married, and Dad kept my governess on. I begged
to go to Girton, or any other college he liked, but he wouldn't hear of
it. Said he wanted a womanly daughter." She smiled rather ruefully. "Dad
was doing well with his practice, for a small-town doctor, and had a good
deal saved, and a little of mother's money. He wanted to have more, so he
put it all into rubber. You've heard about rubber, haven't you?" she
asked, turning to Stefan.

"Not a thing," he smiled.

"Well, every one in England was putting money into rubber last year, and
lots of people did well, but lots--didn't. Poor old Dad didn't--he lost
everything. It wouldn't have really mattered--he had his profession--but
the shock killed him, I think; that and being lonely without Mother." She
paused a moment, looking into the water. "Anyhow, he died, and there was
nothing for me to do except to begin earning my living without any of the
necessary equipment."

"What about the brother-in-law?" asked Stefan.

"Oh, yes, I could have gone to them--I wasn't in danger of starvation.
But," she shook her head emphatically, "a poor relation! I couldn't have
stood that."

"Well," he turned squarely toward her, his elbow on the rail, "I can't