‘Well, you may sneer as much as you like at Carlyle,’ cried Mr. Clack, ‘but to my mind his style is the most magnificent in the English tongue. He is sometimes obscure, I admit; but why? His style is a Niagara Fall of words, and it is veiled by the mist that rises from the stupendous drench.’ ‘Give me Swift for style,’ exclaimed Mr. Webber, a gentleman whom I have before described, with long whiskers and a glass in his eye. ‘Pray do not be drawn into the discussion,’ said Mrs. Webber, calling across to him. ‘I beg your pardon? You mentioned----’ exclaimed Mr. Wedmold. ‘I said Swift. Give me Swift for style,’ rejoined Mr. Webber, pulling down one whisker. ‘Swift has no style,’ said Mr. Wedmold. ‘Swift wrote as he thought, as he would speak; so did Defoe. Style is artificial. Talk to me of De Quincey’s style, of the style of Jeremy Taylor, of Johnson, of Macaulay; but I never want to hear of the style of Swift.’ ‘Give me Goldsmith for style,’ exclaimed a little elderly man seated next to Mrs. Lee. ‘And give me Paris for style!’ said Mrs. Webber, in a loud voice. There was a general laugh. ‘These arguments are incessantly happening,’ said Mrs. Lee. ‘I wish the captain would put a stop to them.’ ‘Can you follow what has been said?’ whispered Alice. ‘Some of the names mentioned are familiar to me,’ I answered; ‘but I can collect no ideas from them.’ ‘Shall we withdraw?’ said she. I at once arose and gave her my arm. Her mother remained seated at the table. When I left my chair Sir Frederick Thompson stood up, and I paused, believing he was about to address me, but quickly perceived that his movement was a mark of respect. I had scarcely entered the Lees’ berth when someone tapped on the door, even whilst I still grasped the handle of it, and, on looking out, I perceived that it was the steward or servant who waited upon the captain. ‘Captain Ladmore’s compliments, madam; he wishes to know if it will be convenient to you to visit him in his cabin presently?’ ‘I will visit him with pleasure,’ I replied; and, closing the door, I turned to Alice Lee and said, ‘What can the captain want?’ ‘Do not be nervous, dear. I will go with you if you wish, or mother shall accompany you. He intends nothing but kindness, you may be sure.’ ‘I dread,’ I exclaimed, putting my hand upon my heart, ‘to be sent into another ship.’ ‘No, no; he will not do that.’ ‘What would become of me in another ship? I shall be without friends, and my loneliness will be the darker for the memories which I shall take away from this vessel. And what will they do with me on board another ship? Where will they take me? Wherever I arrive I shall be friendless. Oh, I hope the captain does not mean to send me away.’ ‘Do not fear. It is not likely that he will send you away until your memory returns and enables you to tell him who you are and where your home is.’ I placed a rug over her knees, and sat at her side and waited. Presently Mrs. Lee entered the berth.