.. And yet I can't bear to leave in the
very middle--not knowing how it is to end. Besides," she added
carelessly, "I have nobody to come back to except a rather remote
relative, so my regrets are unmixed."

There ensued a silence. He was afraid she was about to go, but
couldn't seem to think of anything to say to detain her.

For the girl was very attractive to a careless and amiably casual man
of his sort--the sort who start their little journey through life with
every intention of having the best kind of a time on the way.

She was so distractingly pretty, so confidently negligent of
convention--or perhaps disdainful of it--that he already was
regretting that he had not met her at the beginning of the voyage
instead of at the end.

She had now begun to button up her ulster, as though preliminary to
resuming her deck promenade. And he wanted to walk with her. But
because she had chosen to be informal with him did not deceive him
into thinking that she was likely to tolerate further informality on
his part. And yet he had a vague notion that her inclinations were
friendly.

"I'm sorry," he said rather stupidly, "that I didn't meet you in the
beginning."

The slightest inclination of her head indicated that although possibly
she might be sorry too, regrets were now useless. Then she turned up
the collar of her ulster. The face it framed was disturbingly lovely.
And he took a last chance.

"And so," he ventured politely, "you have really been on board the
_Elsinore_ all this time!"

She turned her charming head toward him, considered him a moment; then
she smiled.

"Yes," she said; "I've been on board all the time. I didn't crawl
aboard in mid-ocean, you know."

The girl was frankly amused by the streak of boyishness in him--the
perfectly transparent desire of this young man to detain her in
conversation. And, still amused, she leaned back against the rail. If
he wanted to talk to her she would let him--even help him. Why not?

"Is that a wound chevron?" she inquired, looking at the sleeve of his
tunic.

"No," he replied gratefully, "it's a service stripe."

"And what does the little cord around your shoulder signify?"

"That my regiment was cited."

"For bravery?"

"Well--that was the idea, I believe."

"Then you've been in action."

"Yes."

"Over the top?"

"Yes."

"How many times?"

"Several. Recently it's been more open work, you know."

"And you were not hit?"

"No."

She regard