"Fascination for the sea?" I exclaimed doubtingly. "Now, weally you are quite wrong. I never go on the sea unless I'm weally forced to do so. In fact, I hate it. It's so beastly wrestless when it might be quiet and let everybody else be quiet too." I lisped painfully. "I think you said it was herrings that interested you," she replied, following up a point she seemed determined to push home. "Are you sure it's not a larger species of fish?" "Yes, quite sure," I hastened to add. "I have no interwests in your extensive cod fisherwies; nor in the oil which I am told is such good business." "I did not mean codfish," she said. "I meant a much larger sort of fish--a big fish closely related to the whale family!" Whilst as she uttered the sentence her bright eyes looked laughingly at me with a keen glance that seemed to wish it could penetrate my very soul. "Whales! Whales! I've never touched a whaling share in my life, and I'm quite certain I don't mean to in these times," I muttered. Again the lady favoured silence, but her eyes never left my face a second. She studied every line, every flicker of the eyelid or twitch of the mouth, to try and read what thoughts were passing through my brain; but fortunately for me an assumed innocent expression of countenance successfully concealed the tumult within. I dared not attempt to change the conversation. I merely followed whatever topic my enchanting _vis-à-vis_ chose to select. I answered her questions quietly and without hesitation, but still she persisted. "I mean those large whales which have been so frequently seen along our coast ever since the first week of August, 1914. Those great big whales _with iron skins_." It was a sudden, bold, frontal attack, which, however, failed entirely. In spite of her many self-satisfied smiles, gentle head-noddings and knowing side-glances, it elicited nothing but a hearty peal of laughter. This was repeated twice, and the diplomatic lady joined in to hide the chagrin she undoubtedly felt. "My dear good lady, if you take me for a spy, you flatter me. You do indeed. I'm neither clever enough nor bold enough, nor energetic enough, ever to be selected for such a business. Even if I had the chance offered me I should never know what I ought to do, or how I could or ought to do it; and if I met a clever person--like yourself, for instance--you would be able to twist me wound your little finger and I could not help myself. Spy, indeed! You are funny! You know you are. Yes, you know you weally are." And I continued to laugh softly, as though the idea suggested was the most humorous thing I had ever heard, although I admit I was perspiring all over. "Then what were you doing on board that trading boat in which we crossed from ---- to ---- last Monday? And why were you disguised as a common sailorman, all dirt and grease?" "Me?"