"He is the Bengali poet who was recently honoured by His Majesty with a knighthood. Perhaps you would like to change books and see what he says?

I have marked something on page sixteen that is helpful, particularly helpful."

"Thank you. But take care of my book, won't you? It is very precious, because it belonged to my father."

She looked into "Realization," but its cool calmness failed to grip her at first, and she lay back in her chair, the breeze fanning her hair, the deep blue of the sky flecked with little cirrus clouds above her as she dreamed. Presently the schoolmaster went below for tea, and she was left alone. She had decided that she did not want tea; after this quiet place the saloon seemed too noisy, and now that seven o'clock was drawing nearer she was feeling rather frightened.

The gold in the air was collected into a great ball that turned crimson in the west, touching the crests of the waves with red as though blood had been splashed upon them, setting Marcella's hair afire, turning her white frock rosy-pink. Two bells sounded, and the sea and the sky grew deep blue, while shadows began to slink about the decks and stalk over the water; grey veils fell over the western sky, and she sat up straight, wondering where Louis was.

Quarter-past seven--twenty-past--and the quick twilight with its message of melancholy was almost past. Three bells sounded, and on the upper deck she saw the saloon pa.s.sengers going in to dinner. Then she started up.

"He said he was horribly shy and nervous--anyone can see he is, too. I suppose he's frightened, now."

For a moment she stood leaning over the rail, her face turned towards the stairway, waiting. Then her feet took her down the steps, along the deck, past the engine-room towards the companion-way. Diddy and a young man in white sat on the step of the cook's galley in a hot atmosphere redolent of food; she was eating an orange. Under the steps Mr. Peters and Mrs. Hetherington sat in shadow; further away, up the deck, the young missionary had collected a group of children and women who were singing "There's a Friend for Little Children" all out of tune. She looked round almost motivelessly before she went below. A splash of light and a volley of laughter from the bar broke through the hymn singing. She turned quickly. Inside the bar, which was arranged like a great window with sliding panels, stood a little man with bright black eyes, wearing a white coat. Behind him were rows upon rows of bottles and bright shining gla.s.ses; a cash register was on the counter. Leaning against it, his face amazingly merry, his eyes shining, was Louis, talking volubly without the suspicion of a stammer. In his hand was a tumbler.

Marcella felt her knees getting weak, though she scarcely realized that she was frightened; she felt that there was going to be a fight of some sort, though she did not rightly realize her enemy. Then, justly or unjustly, her fears crystallized and she had something tangible to fight, for the pock-marked man was standing beside Louis, patting him on the back and smiling at him.

The words of Louis' letter flashed into the depths of her mind: _"That pock-marked man's a devil--he's trying to get me."_

She made her frightened feet go nearer. Ole Fred saw her and grinned.

"Come for that drink, miss?" he asked. She scowled at him; if she had been nine instead of nineteen it would have been called deliberately "making a face." Then she looked past him to Louis.

"I've been waiting for you half an hour, Louis."

"I'm not coming," he said, looking away from her awkwardly. "Y-you've b-better c-company than m-mine."

She flushed and felt herself trembling with temper. A flash from her father's eyes lit up her face as she said quickly:

"No, I haven't. I want to talk to you."

"I c-can't l-leave these chaps now. I'll s-see you to-morrow," he said sullenly.

"Oh no, you'll not. What's to do, Louis? You said you wanted to see me, and there I was waiting for you, and feeling so lonely."

"Go on, ole man. Take her in a dark corner somewhere. Wants a spoon pretty bad," said the red-haired man. "The bar don't close till eleven, an' we'll have some in Number 15 if you're too late."

Marcella treated him to one of her scowls that astonished him, and suddenly, setting his teeth, Louis put down his gla.s.s, took her arm roughly and, striding along blindly, made forrard.

Until they got into the privacy of the fo'c'sle neither spoke. She was breathless, partly with indignation, partly with indefinable fear and partly with the breakneck speed at which he had rushed her along the deck. He sat down on the anchor; she stood before him, her back to the rail, which she gripped with her hands. Her first impulse was to shake him thoroughly. But she resisted it as she heard him groan.

"Never--never in all my life have I imagined there could be anyone so utterly rude as you, and so utterly mad. What on earth do you think you're doing?" she said breathlessly.

To her surprise he spoke quite quietly.

"I got mad with you. I can see now I was a fool."

"But why should you get mad with me? And even if you did, is that any reason why you should go and--and--what was that beastly word?--beer-b.u.m with those awful men?"

"I--I--s-saw you--s-sitting here th-this afternoon--t-talking t-to a man," he stammered, covering his face with his hand.

"Yes, I was. Why not?"

"In--in m-my chair!"

"Oh, my goodness! You great baby!" she cried.

"I w-was c-coming up with s-some t-tea for you and--and th-there I s-saw another man," he jerked out, overcome by the pathos of it. "I th-threw it overboard."

"But supposing there had been sixteen men, why shouldn't I talk to them?"

"I d-don't w-want you to. I w-wanted to talk to you."

"Well!" She could find nothing else to say in her astonishment.

"Don't you see that's enough to start me drinking?" he burst out pa.s.sionately. "Whenever I get hipped about anything--I--t-told you I know myself very well. I'd only h-had one drink when you came along. Did you notice me?"

"_Notice_ you! Oh no!" she cried scornfully.

"Y-you know w-what a nervous f-fool I am; how I'm afraid of my own shadow. But when I've had only one whisky I'd tackle Satan himself! You must have noticed that I was jolly enough then! I used to be the ringleader in all the stunts at the hospital. But when I don't drink I'm afraid to face people. Do you know I haven't had a meal since I came aboard, except your piece of cake and the tea I've made? And now I've thrown my teapot overboard."

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

"All those d.a.m.n 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 d.a.m.ned!' 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, G.o.d," he muttered, "you can see how it is! All the time I'm not drunk I'm worrying and thinking what a h.e.l.l of a mess I've made of things. Th-the minute I'm even sniffing whisky I see everything in a warm, rosy glow. When I'm not drunk everyone's an enemy; when I'm drunk they're all jolly good fellows. Marcella, I'm alone on earth, and I don't want to be."

She sat there, impatient with herself for her ignorance, her hands clasping and unclasping each other nervously.

"Louis--" she began. She could get no further. "Louis--what's one to do?

You say you're a doctor and understand yourself. It seems to me you've really a disease, haven't you? Just as much as--as measles?"

"Of course it's a disease! But don't you see how hopeless it is? It's a disease in which the nurse and the doctor both get the huff with the patient because he's such a d.a.m.ned nuisance to them! And he, poor devil, by the very nature of the disease, fights every step of the treatment."

There was a long silence. At last she put her hand on his arm.

"You know you want to be happy, don't you? You say you don't want to be lonely. That's why you drink the miserable stuff, to make you forget that you're unhappy and friendless."

"Yes--you do understand, you see," he cried eagerly.