through hell and I can't hold out. I understand myself very well; I know
what I need, but I can't do it. I've got to have someone to make me do
things. And if you make me do things I'll get huffy with you and try to
deceive you. It's pretty hopeless, isn't it? That pock-marked devil has
been trying to get me. That's why I've been taking to cover all this
time, partly. Come up on the fo'c'sle to-night at seven. I'll be
sitting on the anchor. For God's sake come. And don't laugh at me, will
you? I can't stand it. L. F."

Without pausing she took paper and pencil and wrote.

"I shall be there. Of course I shall not laugh at you. I cannot
understand anything. I am sorry to admit this, because you will say I am
like your parents. I am in muddles myself, but I am most sorry for you.
And my name is Marcella Lashcairn of Lashnagar."

She put it in an envelope, addressed it to him, tapped on his door and
pushed it under.

She went on deck that afternoon in a state of bubbling excitement. There
were not many people about. They were just getting into the Bay of
Biscay and the _Oriana_ was rolling a little; many had succumbed to
sea-sickness; many more were afraid of it and had gone to lie down in
their bunks. She took some books to read but did not open them for a
long time until the sea-glare had made her eyes ache.

Then she opened "Questing Cells," which she had decided to try to master
during the voyage. She read a page, understanding much better than when
she had read it to her father. But she was pulled up over the word
"inhibition."