They were leaning over the side of the steamer, and she glanced
curiously at his long, rather sunken face, at the uncertain mouth, and
at the eyes, carefully concealed behind a pair of green spectacles. He
seemed, somehow, to have aged since they had first met, a year ago, in
Washington.

"To tell you the truth," he confided, "I am a little tired of my job.
Neither fish nor fowl, don't you know. I took an observation course at
Scotland Yard, but I suppose I am too slow-witted for what they call
secret-service work over here."

"America wouldn't provide you with many opportunities, would it?" she
observed.

"You are quite right," he replied. "I am much more at home upon the
Continent. The Secret Service in America, as we understand it, does
not exist. One finds oneself continually in collaboration with police
inspectors, and people who naturally do not understand one's point of
view. At any rate," he concluded, with a little sigh, "if I have any
talents, they haven't come to the front in Washington. I don't believe
that dear old Sir Richard was at all sorry to see the last of me."
"And you think you will prefer your new profession?"

"Soldiering? Well, I shall have to train up a bit and see. Beastly
ugly work they seem to make of it, nowadays. I don't mind roughing it
up to the extent of my capacity, but I do think that the advice of
one's medical man should be taken into consideration."

She laughed at him openly.