ently, to lessen the
shock of the blow which fate is about to deliver.

"_My dear Mr. Arthur_:

. . . I do not know what to make of it. His likeness to you is the
most unheard of thing. He is a little bigger and broader and he wears
his beard longer. That's all the difference. When he came on the boat
that night, it was like a hand clutching at my throat. And you know
how romantic Elsa is, for all that she believes she is prosaic. I am
certain that she sees you in this stranger who calls himself
Warrington. If only you had had the foresight to follow us, a sailing
or two later! And now they'll be together for four or five days, down
to Singapore. I don't like it. There's something uncanny in the
thing. What if she did forbid you to follow? There are some promises
women like men to break. You should have followed.

Neither of us has the slightest idea what the man has done to exile
himself in this horrible land for ten years. He still behaves like a
gentleman, and he must have been one in the past. But he has never yet
spoken of his home, of his past, of his people. We don't even know
that Warrington is his name. And you know that's a sign that something
is wrong. I wonder if you have any relatives by the name of
Warrington? I begin to see that man's face in my dreams.

I am worried. For Elsa is a puzzle. She has always been one to me. I
have been with her since her babyhood; and yet I know as little of what
goes on in her mind as a stranger would. Her father, you know, was a
soldier, of fierce loves and hates; her mother was a handsome statue.
Elsa has her father's scorn for convention and his independence,
clothed in her mother's impenetrable mask. Don't mistake me. Elsa is
the most adorable creature to me, and I worship her; but I worry about
her. I believe that it would be wise on your part to meet us in San
Francisco. Give my love and respect to your dear beautiful mother.
And marry Elsa as fast as ever you can."

There followed some rambling comments on the weather, the rains and the
dust, the execrable food and the lack of drinking-water. The man who
eventually received this letter never reached that part of it.

The day of sailing was brilliant and warm. Elsa sat in a chair on the
deck of the tender, watching the passengers as they came aboard. A
large tourist party bustled about, rummaged among the heaps of luggage,
and shouted questions at their unhappy conductor. They