hing more
than stuffy, as a stateroom that has been closed for a week or so is
apt to be.

Unscrewing the fat wingbolts which clamped down the brass-bound
port-glass, he let in a breath of misty river air. Simultaneously
voices came into the room.

Miss Vost and Bobbie MacLaurin were conversing in clear, tense
syllables. Peter could not help eavesdropping. They were standing on
the deck, directly over his stateroom, only a few scant feet from his
porthole, which was situated much nearer the deck than the surging
water.

"But I do--I do love you!" Bobbie was complaining in his rumbling
voice. "Ever since you set foot on the old _Sunyado Maru_ I've been
your shadow--your slave! What more can any man say?" he added bitterly.

"Not a great deal," rejoined Miss Vost lightheartedly. She became
abruptly serious. "Bobbie, I do like you. I admire you--ever so much.
But it happens that you are not the man for me. You don't understand
me. You can never understand me. Don't you realize it? You're too
sudden--too brutal--too----"

"Brutal! I've treated you like a flower. I want to shield you----"

"But I don't _need_ shielding, Bobbie. I'm prudent, fearless,
and--twenty-two. I don't need a watch-dog!"

"Good God, who said anything about being a watchdog?" exclaimed Bobbie.
"I--I just want----"

"You just want me," completed Miss Vost. "Well, you can't have me."

"You love somebody else, then. That young pup!"

Peter stared sourly at the bilious moon.

"Don't you dare call him a young pup, Robert MacLaurin," retorted Miss
Vost resentfully. "He is a fine young man. I admire him and I respect
him very, _very_ much."

"He can't fool around any girl of mine!"

Peter heard Bobbie sucking the breath in between his teeth, as if he
might have pricked himself with a pin. Bobbie had done worse than that.

"A girl of _yours_!" snapped Miss Vost.

Followed low, anxious and imploratory whispers. These were terminated
by a long, light, and delicious laugh.

"Bobbie, you're so _funny_!" Miss Vost gurgled.

"I wish I was dead!" declared Bobbie despondently.

"You should go to Liauchow," Miss Vost chirped.

"_Why_ should _I_ go to Liauchow?" grumbled the bass voice.

"To be happy, you must be born in Soochow, live in Canton and die in
Liauchow. So runs the proverb."

"Why should I go to Liauchow?" persisted Bobbie.

"Because Soochow has the handsomest people, Canton the most luxury, and
Liauchow the