guered England, and Ada would be there,
waiting.

And then, as he sat there, he came slowly back to the present and saw
that the _Kalkis_ was moving. He saw steam jetting from the forecastle
and that told him they were heaving up the anchor. An obsolete old ship,
he reflected, with the exhaust from the windlass blinding everybody and
making it difficult to see the bridge. The _Kalkis_ began to move.

Now she had way on and was turning towards him. Coming in to a new
berth, Mr. Spokesly noted. He rose, and Mr. Dainopoulos appeared at the
door leading to the balcony.

"You all right, eh?" he inquired, and seeing the empty cups made a
peculiar grimace. He pointed to the _Kalkis_.

"You got a new berth?" said Mr. Spokesly.

"Yeh. Over here," said Mr. Dainopoulos. "It's the best we can get just
now. No room inside. Now," he went on, "You got to go on board, see, and
have a look round. There's two hundred ton to be loaded quick, but I
think her winches, they ain't very good. You let me know. The captain,
he talk plenty about _new_ winches. Where do I get new winches, eh? I
ask you, where do I get 'em, out here?"

This time, when called, Mr. Spokesly was ready.

"We'll get her loaded," he said. "If it's all light general we can do
it, winches or no winches. Is the other mate finished?"

"Just about. He don't get any more pay, anyhow."

Evanthia suddenly came out of the shadow of the room and looked at them
in a theatrical way, as though she were about to begin a big scene and
was waiting for her cue from the rear.

"Breakfast," said Mr. Dainopoulos, upon whom this sort of histrionics
was lost, and they went down to a room on the ground floor, a room that
was full of moving green shadows and pale green beams as the dense
foliage of the garden swayed in the breeze. It was like sitting in a
recess at the bottom of the sea. The slim girl with the contemptuously
taciturn expression was laying the table.

"My wife, she don't come down," said Mr. Dainopoulos, devouring lamb
stew. They might have been in the breakfast room of a home in Haverstock
Hill. Only the figure of Evanthia hissing incomprehensible commands into
the ears of the sullen young girl, who stared at Mr. Spokesly and moved
unwillingly into the kitchen, recalled the adventure behind this little
scene. On the walls were enlarged photographs of the father and mother
of Mr. Dainopoulos, life-size coloured prints in gold frames that were
enclosed in an outer gl