le Verbena tripped upon
the deck at an early hour, to find Mr. Greyne already installed there,
and looking positively cheerful. He started up as he perceived her, and
chivalrously escorted her to a chair.

Everyone who has made a voyage knows that the sea breeds intimacies. By
the time the white houses of Algiers rose on their hill out of the bosom
of the waves Mademoiselle Verbena and Mr. Greyne were--shall we say like
sister and brother? She had told him all about her childhood in dear
Paris, the death of her father the count, murmuring the name of Louis
XVI., the poverty of her mother the countess, her own resolve to put
aside all aristocratic prejudices and earn her own living. He, in
return, had related his Eton days, his momentary bias towards the
militia, his marriage--as an innocent youth--with Miss Eugenia
Hannibal-Barker. Coming to later times, he was led to confide to the
tenderhearted Levantine the fact that he hoped to increase his stock of
knowledge while in Africa. Without alluding to "Catherine," he hinted
that the cure of influenza was not his only reason for foreign travel.

"I wish to learn something of men and--and women," he murmured in the
shell-like ear presented to him. "Of their passions, their desires,
their--their follies."

"Ah!" cried Mademoiselle Verbena. "Would that I could assist monsieur!
But I am only an ignorant little creature, and know nothing of the
world! And I shall be ever at the bedside of mamma."

"You will give me your address? You will let me inquire for the
countess?"

"Willingly; but I do not know where I shall be. There will be a message
at the wharf. To what hotel goes monsieur?"

"The Grand Hotel."

"I will write there when I have seen mamma. And meanwhile----"

They were coming into harbour. The heights of Mustapha were visible, the
woods of the Bois de Boulogne, the towers of the Hotel Splendid.

"Meanwhile, may I beg monsieur not to----" She hesitated.

"Not to what?" asked Mr. Greyne most softly.

"Not to let anyone in England know that I am here?"

She paused. Mr. Greyne was silent, wondering. Mademoiselle Verbena
drooped her head.

"The world is so censorious. It might seem strange that I--that
monsieur--a man young, handsome, fascinating--the same ship--I have no
chaperon--enfin----"

She could get out no more. Her delicacy, her forethought touched Mr.
Greyne to tears.

"Not a word," he said. "You are right. The world is evil, and, as you
say,