is a remote headland in the Shetlands, and
she, a member of the corps called after it, flew the White Ensign of
the British Navy and was an armed merchant cruiser.

* * * * *

Before the war she was a crack passenger liner. On her upper deck, and
expressly designed for the use of potentates and plutocrats, she had
regular suites of apartments. Gorgeous suites they were, furnished
like the rooms in a mansion ashore. The sleeping cabins had white
enamelled panels and comfortable brass bedsteads. The day cabins or
sitting-rooms, panelled in bird's-eye maple, oak, walnut, or mahogany,
had large square windows, regular fireplaces, and were fresh with
flowered chintzes, while the tiled bathrooms were fitted with all the
different appliances for hot baths, tepid baths, cold baths, needle
baths, shower baths, and douches. One simply turned a handle and the
water came. A telephone in each sitting-room communicated with a
central exchange somewhere deep down in the bowels of the ship, and one
could summon a barber to trim one's hair, a manicure expert to attend
to one's hands, a tobacconist with samples of cigars, cigarettes, and
tobacco, or the presiding genius of a haberdashery establishment with
quite the latest things in shirts, collars, socks, and neckties. In
fact, living in one of the expensive suites was exactly like being in a
large and luxurious hotel, except that it was vastly more comfortable.

Lower down in the ship were the single, double, and treble-berthed
cabins for the first and second-class passengers. They, though small,
were very comfortable, and were fitted with telephones through which
one could summon a stewardess with a basin or a steward with a whisky
and soda. Down below, too, were the saloons, huge apartments with
carved panels, ornamental pillars, glass-pictured domes, coloured
frescoes, and dozens of small tables. There was also the Louis XIV.
restaurant, if one preferred a simple beefsteak to the more formal
dinner, and smoking-rooms, reading-rooms, libraries, drawing-rooms,
writing-rooms, not to mention the swimming bath and the children's
nursery.

We can imagine the great liner, spick and span in her spotless paint
and gleaming brasswork, steaming through a placid summer sea. Her long
promenade decks would be plastered with deck-chairs filled with
recumbent passengers, some dozing, others smoking and talking. Some
energetic enthusiast would be passing fro