ain. As Mr.
Damon pointed out, Fate, by thus throwing them into each other's arms,
clearly intended they should have a cosy dinner together that very
evening in the captain's cabin of the _Fortuna_.

Mr. Korner, returning to the office, despatched to Ravenscourt Park an
express letter, announcing the strange news that he might not be home
that evening much before ten, and at half-past six, for the first time
since his marriage, directed his steps away from home and Mrs. Korner.

The two friends talked of many things. And later on they spoke of
sweethearts and of wives. Mate Damon's experiences had apparently been
wide and varied. They talked--or, rather, the mate talked, and Mr.
Korner listened--of the olive-tinted beauties of the Spanish Main, of
the dark-eyed passionate creoles, of the blond Junos of the Californian
valleys. The mate had theories concerning the care and management of
women: theories that, if the mate's word could be relied upon, had stood
the test of studied application. A new world opened out to Mr. Korner;
a world where lovely women worshipped with doglike devotion men who,
though loving them in return, knew how to be their masters. Mr. Korner,
warmed gradually from cold disapproval to bubbling appreciation,
sat entranced. Time alone set a limit to the recital of the mate's
adventures. At eleven o'clock the cook reminded them that the captain
and the pilot might be aboard at any moment. Mr. Korner, surprised at
the lateness of the hour, took a long and tender farewell of his cousin,
and found St. Katherine's Docks one of the most bewildering places out
of which he had ever tried to escape. Under a lamp-post in the Minories,
it suddenly occurred to Mr. Korner that he was an unappreciated man.
Mrs. Korner never said and did the sort of things by means of which
the beauties of the Southern Main endeavoured feebly to express their
consuming passion for gentlemen superior in no way--as far as he could
see--to Mr. Korner himself. Thinking over the sort of things Mrs. Korner
did say and did do, tears sprung into Mr. Korner's eyes. Noticing that
a policeman was eyeing him with curiosity, he dashed them aside and
hurried on. Pacing the platform of the Mansion House Station, where
it is always draughty, the thought of his wrongs returned to him with
renewed force. Why was there no trace of doglike devotion about Mrs.
Korner? The fault--so he bitterly told himself--the fault was his.
"A woman loves her master