Next moment she became aware of a tall, grey-haired lady in black
clinging to the rail beside the doctor, and crying unrestrainedly as she
seemed to be gazing directly at Marcella.

"Louis, you'll remember, won't you?" she cried in a faint, choked
voice. "You'll try, won't you?" and Marcella, turning slightly,
realized that it was the young man with brown eyes at whom she was
looking.

"Yes, Mater, you know I will," said he hoarsely. A crowd of half a dozen
men standing on the other side of Dr. Angus began to yell greetings and
farewells to the man called Louis while the grey lady's eyes and his
held each other for a moment in a passionate glance of appeal and
ratification.

"Cheerio, Farne," called someone.

"Farne, don't get wet!" yelled someone else. There was a chorus of
cheers and catcalls.

"Buck up, Mater," he called with another long glance. Then, waving his
hat to the others he called cheerfully, "Give my respects to Leicester
Square, you chaps."

A group of stewards in white jackets began to whistle the song and
someone on the boat deck sang it in a high falsetto. Someone behind
Marcella was holding a piece of white ribbon that went right across the
water to the tender; as the boat's speed accelerated the frail thread
snapped and the girl in whose hand it was clasped, a very thin, anaemic