he first happy hour I have spent for months!"

"I hope we shall have many more," Katrine had answered, confused and
startled, but as she took her way to her cabin she could have found it
in her heart to regret the words. "He is clever, he is interesting, he
is cultivated,--but I _don't_ like him! There's something in his
face.--I am glad it is not _he_ who is to look after me!" During the
luncheon hour, however, her ruminations carried her to a different
plane. "It doesn't matter whether I like him or not. He is ill and
lonely, and he--_drinks_! because he has nothing better to do. I'll be
kind to him. I'll get Captain Bedford to be kind. Perhaps between us
we can keep him straight..."

Poor Katrine! She felt a glow of satisfaction when again that evening
Vernon Keith spent an hour by her side. She paced the deck with him,
acutely conscious of looks of disapproval from several elderly quarters,
feeling a childish sense of elation every time that the entrance to the
smoke-room was passed in safety, exerting herself to start fresh
subjects of interest each time the conversation flagged, but in spite of
all her efforts, by half-past nine her companion grew restless, answered
at random, and finally excused himself, pleading fatigue, a letter to be
begun--

Well! Katrine consoled herself, at least he had had an hour in the
fresh air, and could feel that _some one_ was interested, and that he
was no longer ostracised... She found her cabin companion, and sat
demurely by her side until after eleven o'clock, the beauty of the night
making her unwilling to retire to the stuffy cabin. When at last they
rose and turned towards the companion-way, Katrine felt pleasantly
tired, and confident of a good night's rest, but the most exciting
incident of the day was still to come. Mrs Mannering led the way a few
paces ahead, and Katrine, following in the rear, found her way suddenly
blocked by a tall form with flushed face, and dulled eyes, from whose
garments floated the unmistakable fumes of whisky.

It was Vernon Keith, and for a moment they stood motionless, face to
face, her eyes cold and stern, his lightening into recognition, then
flinching with a pathetic shame.

"I--thought--you--had gone," he stammered thickly. "Getting late--for
you. Ver'--late." He was turning back in the direction of the
smoke-room, when with a sudden impulse, Katrine laid her hand on his
arm.

"Mr Keith! Will you do me a favour? You