n--"

Mr Murray leaped from his seat, bowed deeply, and walked rapidly away.
To the end of the voyage he kept sedulously out of Katrine's way.

Katrine lay contentedly in her chair luxuriating in the sun and the
breeze, and lazily studying the passers-by. As usual under the
circumstances she dubbed the passengers dull and uninteresting. Further
acquaintance might reveal hidden fascinations, but for the present she
failed to discover any of the types for which she looked. The
fascinating grass widow playing havoc with other hearts, while keeping
her own serenely untouched; the beauteous maids sailing forth to conquer
new worlds, the purple-faced and choleric colonels; the flock of
interesting, unattached males!--where had they all disappeared? She saw
before her a company for the most part staid and middle-aged, bearing
the chastened air of the outward bound; the sprinkling of youngsters
were of very ordinary attractions, the flock of children, fascinating
for an hour, but becoming painfully in evidence as the day wore on.
Only one figure arrested her attention, and that from a reason more
painful than pleasant. He was a man approaching middle-age, with a
finely-hewn face, on which consumption had deeply hewn its mark. He
paced the deck wrapped in an old Inverness cape, and at intervals leaned
coughing over the rail. So far as Katrine's observation went, he spoke
to nobody, and nobody spoke to him. Her heart softened at his air of
suffering, and she determined that if fate threw him in her way, she
would open an acquaintance.

After tea the grey-haired Mrs Mannering joined her room-mate for a
promenade round the deck, and treated her to staccato items of
information.

"Sticky lot! Always are on these boats. Thank goodness there are very
few soldiers on board. When there are, it's worse than ever. Cavalry
cuts Infantry, Infantry snubs civilians. Civil servants bar trade. So
you go on! Don't trouble _me_. I know too much about 'em!" She gave a
quick, keen glance. "Like scandal?"

"Thank you, no! I hate it."

"Quite right, too. At your age. I don't mind telling you that it's the
breath of my nostrils. No pretence about me. What I think I _say_!
Give me a good, spicy divorce..."

Katrine quickened her pace, eyelids drooped, corners of lips turned
down. Never in all her twenty-six years had she listened to such a
sentiment. Horror seized her at the idea of being shut up in close
quarters with