her--but it picked up its skirts for fear she might touch them. What a
country! What a race! Well, feeling towards her as I did, and loathing
him, I urged him to marry her--to make her his property for life. Dead
against my conviction, mind you, but what else could I do? God help me, I
played the renegade to what I sincerely believed. I couldn't see her done
to death by a world of satyrs."

"Of course you couldn't, my dear man," cried Chevenix. "Girls of her sort
must be married, you know."

"I don't know anything of the kind," replied Senhouse, fiercely; "but I
loved her. You may put it that I funked. I did--and to no purpose."

"If you were to see her now," Chevenix put in, "you could do some good.
She'll be pretty lonely up there." Senhouse got up.

"I'll see her," he said. "Whatever happens."

"Right," said Chevenix. "That's a good man. That's what I wanted of you.
I'll tell her that you're coming. Now I'm going to do the civil to Mrs.
Germain."

Senhouse had turned away, and was leaning over the bulwarks, lost in his
thoughts. He remained there until the passage was over.

Mr. Chevenix, having approached the lady with all forms observed, made
himself happy in her company, as, indeed, he did in all. "Now this is very
jolly, Mrs. Germain, I must say. I'm a companionable beggar, I believe;
and here I was in a ship where I didn't know a living soul until I met you
and Senhouse. Didn't even know that you knew Senhouse. Queer fish, eh? Oh,