ndied plums in her mouth
and broke into a swirl of vituperation. Mr. Spokesly, coming in behind
his employer at that moment, thought it was remarkably like a cat
spitting. The servant suddenly slipped past Evanthia, eyes downcast and
smouldering, and scampered out of sight. Mr. Spokesly looked after the
lithe little form with the slender cotton stockings and little cup-like
breasts under the one-piece cotton dress. He had an idea that that girl
would like to knife both Evanthia and himself.

He followed Evanthia out into the garden.

"It's all right," he said. "I got everything on board. But no passport.
Nothing doing."

"No?"

He shook his head in confirmation. Most emphatically there had been
nothing doing. They were all in a decidedly ugly mood, with that darned
girl of Jack Harrowby's in gaol for telling about the times of sailing.
They knew well enough the girl had been a fool, an innocent go-between;
but they weren't having any more of it. The young lady with friends in
Athens would have to exist without them until the war was over. Let her
apply to the Provisional Government and then, if all was satisfactory,
they would forward the application to the War Office, who would look
into it. Sometime next year would be a good date to expect a
reply--probably in the negative. That was all he could get out of them.
He looked glumly at Evanthia, who stared back at him thinking rapidly.
She had not expected a passport. To her a passport was an infernal
contrivance for landing you in prison unless you paid and paid and paid
an interminable succession of officials. When she had exclaimed to Mrs.
Dainopoulos, "Oh, what shall I do? _Que ferai-je?_" she had been really
thinking aloud. What should she do if the Englishman failed to get a
passport? Even that was a pose because she had decided what to do. She
drew Mr. Spokesly farther away from the house and turned to him with an
expression of smiling composure on her face. He stared as though
fascinated. She was going to spring something on him, he was sure. In
the intervals between sleep and his herculean labours to get the
_Kalkis_ ship-shape and Bristol fashion he sometimes wondered whether
she had not taken him literally when he had said he would go to hell for
her. Another thing: it appeared he had to do this for nothing. He was to
get her back to her lover and receive a purely nominal reward. He took
hold of her shoulders and kissed her hair. He was certainly taking a