thrown my teapot overboard."

"But whyever haven't you had a meal?"

"All those damn fools in the saloon are looking at me!"

"Oh, you idiot!" she cried, and suddenly sat down on the anchor beside
him, all her indignation at the personal slight and the personal
annoyance gone.

"You see how it is, Marcella," he groaned. "I can call you Marcella,
can't I? Just till we get to Sydney. It sounds a Roman, fighting sort of
name. You see how wobbly I am! I've had the devil's own time since we
left Tilbury, lying there in my bunk, thinking, thinking--and the more
I think the more sorry I get for myself, and the more I hate other
people, and the more nervous I get. I knew I was in for a bad attack.
I always do when I get away from home. Reaction I suppose. I put up the
devil of a fight, and then when I felt it was whacking me I wrote to
you."

"Well, I said I'd come, didn't I? And I waited," she reminded him.

"Yes, and then I saw you talking to that idiotic fellow in a high
collar, and I thought, 'Oh, everything be damned!' So I chummed up to
the pock-marked chap. He was glad enough to have me! Wants me to play
poker."

He buried his face, and she could scarcely hear his words.

"Oh, God," he muttered, "you can see how it is! All the time I'm not