ering ribbons through the water.

"Most of the passengers are aboard now," volunteered the schoolmaster.

"Are they?" she said, her heart sinking. It came to her that he had
gone, that she would never see him again. And in that moment she knew
just how much she wanted to see him: and in that moment she saw him.

A boatload of men was zigzagging towards the Oriana with snatches of
loud song, laughter and occasional shouts. It was impossible to
distinguish faces until the boat came within range of the vessel's arc
lamps. And their dead white glare shone on Louis's face--and on his face
alone, as far as Marcella was concerned. He was grinning vacantly: he
looked very white. As he swayed up the ladder she saw that his clothes
were covered in dust. Catching sight of her the minute he reached the
deck, he lurched towards her. She shrank away a little, frightened of
the glazed stare of his eyes, his loose, slobbering mouth. She knew that
he was drunk, but he was not drunk as her father had been. Wild thoughts
flickered on the curtain of her mind: "drunk as a lord" was one of them.
"That's how father used to be," and a queer sort of pride in him
followed. After all, there was something in being a lord, even in
drunkenness! But this foolish, grinning, damp-mouthed thing before her,
who kept making ineffectual attempts to lift his hand to his head and
take off his hat, who was coming closer towards her with the inadequate
movements she had once seen made by a duck when its leg had been
broken!--

"H'lo, ole girl!" he said, standing before her at last. "Parlez-vous
Franshay? Ah, oui, oui! Give--kith, ole girl!"

"You'd better go below, Miss Lashcairn," said the schoolmaster in a low
voice. "It's no use talking to an intoxicated man."

She knew he was speaking, but she felt mesmerized by Louis, and shook
her head impatiently, never taking her eyes for an instant from the
boy's dribbling mouth.

"Give's--kith--kith--kisssh," he said solemnly after a great effort,
managing to close his mouth. "Baisez-moi--ole girl! Ah, oui, oui! Ole
girl--I shay, ole girl--voulez-vous coucher avec moi?"

He caught her arm and held it tight, grinning into her face. She stood
with set face, trembling.

"What does he mean?" she asked the schoolmaster, who was looking
distressed.

"He is speaking French--I--don't quite"--he coughed nervously--"I don't
quite understand him--it isn't classical French. But I should go below.
He will be better to