, as he looked around the
place, that he had, after all, only a very imperfect hold upon his own
identity. It seemed impossible that he, Philip Romilly, should be there,
ordering precisely what appealed to him most, without thought or care of
the cost. He ate and drank slowly and with discrimination, and when he
left the place he felt stronger. He sought out a first-class
tobacconist's, bought some cigarettes, and enquired his way to the dock.
At a few minutes after two, he passed up the gangway and boarded the
great steamer. One of the little army of linen-coated stewards enquired
the number of his room and conducted him below.

"Anything I can do for you, sir, before your luggage comes on?" the man
asked civilly.

Philip shook his head and wandered up on deck again, where there were
already a fair number of passengers in evidence. He leaned over the side,
watching the constant stream of porters bearing supplies, and the
steerage passengers passing into the forepart of the ship. With every
moment his impatience grew. He looked at his watch sometimes half a dozen
times in ten minutes, changed his position continually, started violently
whenever he heard an unexpected footstep behind him. Finally he broke a
promise he had made to himself. He bought newspapers, took them into a
sheltered corner, and tore them open. Column by column he searched them
through feverishly, running his finger down one side and up the next. It
seemed impossible to find nowhere the heading he dreaded to see, to
realize that they were entirely empty of any exciting incident. He
satisfied himself at last, however. The disappearance of a half-starved
art teacher had not yet blazoned out to a sympathetic world. It was so
much to the good.... There was a touch upon his shoulder, and he felt a
chill of horror. When he turned around, it was the steward who had
conducted him below, holding out a telegram.

"I beg your pardon, sir," he said. "Telegram just arrived for you."

He passed on almost at once, in search of some one else. Philip stood for
several moments perfectly still. He looked at the inscription--_Douglas
Romilly_--set his teeth and tore open the envelope:

Understood you were returning to factory before leaving. Am posting a few
final particulars to Waldorf Hotel, New York. Staff joins me in wishing
you bon voyage.

Philip felt his heart cease its pounding, felt an immense sense of
relief. It was a wonderful thing, this message. It cle