and washing against the sides of the ship.

As soon as breakfast was done, Willoughby disappeared over the vessel's
side, carrying a brown leather case, shouting over his shoulder that
every one was to mind and behave themselves, for he would be kept in
Lisbon doing business until five o'clock that afternoon.

At about that hour he reappeared, carrying his case, professing himself
tired, bothered, hungry, thirsty, cold, and in immediate need of his
tea. Rubbing his hands, he told them the adventures of the day: how he
had come upon poor old Jackson combing his moustache before the glass
in the office, little expecting his descent, had put him through such
a morning's work as seldom came his way; then treated him to a lunch of
champagne and ortolans; paid a call upon Mrs. Jackson, who was fatter
than ever, poor woman, but asked kindly after Rachel--and O Lord, little
Jackson had confessed to a confounded piece of weakness--well, well, no
harm was done, he supposed, but what was the use of his giving orders if
they were promptly disobeyed? He had said distinctly that he would take
no passengers on this trip. Here he began searching in his pockets and
eventually discovered a card, which he planked down on the table before
Rachel. On it she read, "Mr. and Mrs. Richard Dalloway, 23 Browne
Street, Mayfair."

"Mr. Richard Dalloway," continued Vinrace, "seems to be a gentleman who
thinks that because he was once a member of Parliament, and his wife's
the daughter of a peer, they can have what they like for the asking.
They got round poor little Jackson anyhow. Said they must have
passages--produced a letter from Lord Glenaway, asking me as a personal
favour--overruled any objections Jackson made (I don't believe they came
to much), and so there's nothing for it but to submit, I suppose."