the sun never sets! In a few years' time every foreign
ship--especially Germans--will be swept off the seas and Britannia will
literally rule the waves."

"She looks such a nice, comfortable, clean old ship," began Marcella,
feeling very sorry for her.

"Clean?" he cried. "A German clean? Filthy cockroachy holes, their ships
are! Why, there's only one race on earth dirtier than the Germans and
that's the Scots."

Then he stopped dead and giggled nervously as he realized what he had
said. Her eyes were blazing, her lips quivering; it was impossible for
her to speak for a moment, her breath was coming in such sharp pants.
For a moment she looked just like Andrew Lashcairn, but before she had
time to launch her indignation he was stammering and apologizing and
looking so sorry that she decided to bury the hatchet. And he went on
breathlessly, trying to reinstate himself.

"You know, I hate the Germans. I happen to know a lot about them and the
menace they are to Eng--Britain," he said in a low, confidential voice.
He had, as a matter of fact, recently read in proof some spy-revelations
his father's firm was publishing. He was well primed. He went on talking
rapidly, showing her Germany as an ogre. She listened amazed; she
thought all that sort of thing had died out years ago, but, thinking of
her own indignant championing of Scotland, decided that she was just as
illogical as Louis.

"However do you know all this?" she asked at last.

"Well--as a matter of fact--I did a bit of secret service work once. It
was one time when the Pater spewed me out of home."

That day he was secretive and bewildering: once he took a little bundle
of crackling papers from his pocket and put them away again furtively,
watching her as he did so. She was impressed, but puzzled.

But all the time, in spite of chaffing insults and even friendly
overtures he kept away from Ole Fred's gang and stayed almost
desperately at Marcella's side. They became the subject of gossip;
spiteful gossip on the part of the girls, shocked gossip on the side of
the married women, who, with the exception of Mrs. Hetherington, left
her severely alone.

Between Marcella and Mrs. Hetherington a queer friendship had sprung up;
her quickness, her absolute lack of continuity, her littleness and her
transparently minx-like qualities seemed so pathetic that Marcella took
her under her wing. She never came out of her cabin for breakfast; the
stewardess, with her no