child to bring up."

"Um--" said Marcella doubtfully.

"It's sweet of you to mother the little fellow, dear. He must be a great
trouble to poor Mistah Petahs! I have two little darlings, but I find
that boarding school suits them much better than being with me. I think
that children need both father and mother, don't you?"

"Yes," said Marcella dazedly, unable to follow Mrs. Hetherington's
reasoning.

"And you know," she went on, "I've a terrible feeling that poor Mistah
Petah's loneliness might lead him to--er--Oh dreadful things." She
dropped her voice to a whisper. "My dear--I believe he drinks," she
said, underlining the words. "I tried my best to look after him last
night," she added plaintively.

"Oh, did you?" said Marcella and suddenly stopped dead. "All this
looking after! What are we all up to? Is it impudence or vanity, or what
is it? I don't know! Anyway, I'm going below," and she turned abruptly
away.

As it was Sunday Marcella lost her crowd of children, who were claimed
for a church service by an enthusiastic missionary in the first class.
She spent the morning writing letters and reading. When she went to her
cabin to get ready for lunch there was a note pinned on to the mirror.
She took it down in surprise.

"I don't know your name," she read; "but I must see you. I've been going