him best. True, there were occasions on which the thought of home allured
him. The idea of marriage with some woman who loved him would spring like
a beacon out of the night in moments of depression. Other men found a
permanent abiding-place and were content therewith; why not he? But he
only played with the notion. It did not seriously attract him. He was not
a marrying man, and, as he had said to Larpent, the woman did not exist
who could hold him. The bare thought of Sheila Melrose sent a mocking
smile to his lips. Did she think--did she really think--that she
possessed the necessary qualifications to capture a man of his
experience? He dismissed her with a snap of the fingers. Sheila had
practically everything in life to learn, and he did not propose to be her
teacher.

His cigarette was finished and he got up. The yacht was speeding like a
winged thing on her way. There was never any fuss of departure when
Larpent was in command. He stood for a few seconds in indecision,
contemplating going up on to the bridge for a word with his captain and a
glance round. But some fantastic scruple deterred him. He had made his
farewell. He did not wish to see Valrosa again. He turned instead and
went to his cabin.

All the appointments of the yacht were of the most luxurious order. She
possessed every imaginable contrivance for the comfort of those who
voyaged in her. Her state-cabins were a miracle of elegance and ease.

Saltash never took a valet when he went for a voyage. The steward
attended to his clothes, and he waited on himself. He liked as much space
as he could get both on deck and below.

He pushed open the door of his cabin and felt for the switch of the