“And you mean to renew your life of wandering when you reach England?” said Harwood, after a pause. “It is all that there is left for me,” said the man bitterly, though a change in his tone would have made his words seem very pitiful. “I am not such a fool as to fancy that a man can sow tares and reap wheat. The spring of my life is over, and also the summer, the seed-time and the ripening; shall the harvest be delayed then? No, I am not such a fool.” “I cannot see that you might not rest at home,” said Harwood. “Surely you have some associations in England.” “Not one that is not wretched.” “But a man of good family with some money is always certain to make new associations for himself, no matter what his life has been. Marriage, for instance; it is, I think, an exceedingly sure way of squaring a fellow up in life.” “A very sure way indeed,” laughed Markham. “Never mind; in another week I shall be away from this society which has already become so pleasant to me. Perhaps I shall knock up against you in some of the strange places of the earth, Harwood.” “I heartily hope so,” said the other. “But I still cannot see why you should not come on with us to the Cape. The voyage will completely restore you, you can get your money changed there, and a steamer of this company's will take you away two days after you land.” “I cannot remain aboard this steamer,” said Markham quickly. “I must leave at St. Helena.” Then he walked away with that shortness of ceremony which steamer voyagers get into a habit of showing to each other without giving offence. “Poor beggar!” muttered Harwood. “Wrecked in sight of the haven--a pleasant haven--yes, if he is not an uncommonly good actor.” He turned round from where he was leaning over the ship's side smoking, and saw the man with whom he had been talking seated in his chair by the side of Daireen Gerald. He watched them for some time--for a long time--until his cigar was smoked to the very end. He looked over the side thoughtfully as he dropped the remnant and heard its little hiss in the water; then he repeated his words, “a wreck.” Once more he glanced astern, and then he added thoughtfully, “Yes, he is right; he had much better part at St. Helena--very much better.” Mr. Markham seemed quite naturally to have found his place in Mrs. Crawford's set, exclusive though it was; for somehow aboard ship a man amalgamates only with that society for which he is suited; a man is seldom to be found out of place on account of certain considerations such as one meets on shore. Not even Mr. Glaston could raise any protest against Mr. Markham's right to take a place in the midst of the elect of the cabin. But the young lady in whose birthday book Mr. Markham had inscribed his name upon the first day of his appearance at the table, thought it very unkind of him to join the band who had failed to appreciate her toilet splendours.