must be a Spartan. I found what I sought at last and went on deck.

The scene, though cheerful, was not lacking in wartime features: A
row of life-boats hung invitingly ready; a gun, highly dramatic in
appearance, was mounted astern, with every air of meaning business
should the kaiser meddle with us en route. Down below, the Italians,
talking, gesticulating, showing their white teeth in flashing, boyish
smiles, were being herded docilely on board, while at intervals one or
another of the few promenade-deck passengers appeared.

The first of these, a shrewd-faced, nervous little man, borrowed an
unneeded match of me and remarked that it was cold weather for spring.
The next, a good-looking young foreigner,--a reservist, I surmised,
recalled to the Italian colors in this hour of his country's
need,--rather harrowed my feelings by coming on board with a family
party, gray-haired father, anxious mother, slim bride-like wife, and two
brothers or cousins, all making pathetic pretense at good cheer. Soon
after came a third man, dark, quiet, watchful-looking, and personable
enough, although his shoes were a little too gleamingly polished, his
watch and chain a little too luminously golden, the color scheme of his
hose and tie selected with almost too much care.

"This," I reflected resignedly, "is going to be a ghastly trip. By Jove,
here comes another! Now where have I seen her before?"

The new arrival, as indicated by the pronoun, was a woman; though why
one should tempt Providence by traveling on this route at this juncture,
I found it hard to guess. Standing with her back to me, enveloped in a
coat of sealskin with a broad collar of darker fur, well gloved, smartly
shod, crowned by a fur hat with a gold cockade, she made a delightful