Mrs. Pottle said something, and again essayed to flee, but Schwab spread himself and solemnly waved her down. "Stay, madame. It is not merely zat I am in lov; I am also in business. I haf ze honour to offer you double bartnership. My hand, madame, my heart—my Gairman heart—I blace zem at your feet. And viz zem go ze rebresentation of ze solid house of Schlagintwert, ze gorresbondence of ze _Düsseldörfer Tageblatt_ vat circulate in Werden, Kettwig, Mülheim, Odenkolin, and ozer blaces; besides fery bromising agencies in Ruskin edition de luxe, batent mangle, hair restorer, zentrifugal bomp, bianola—" Schwab was so intent on his formula that he was not prepared for a sudden convulsive movement on the part of Mrs. Pottle, who seized her sunshade, and, sweeping the bulky wooer from her path, fled below. He stood for a moment in solemn stillness; then he took out his pipe, emptied it of ash, refilled and lit it, and, blowing great guns, gathered the volumes into his arms and walked away. Meanwhile Mrs. Pottle had almost fallen into the arms of her brother, who was bringing from his cabin a paper to show Bob on deck. "Now, Jane, Jane," expostulated Mr. Charteris mildly "you are too old to take flying leaps like that." "Oh, Andrew, Andrew!" said Mrs. Pottle, with a burst of laughter, "I am not too old to have an offer." "What do you mean?" "My! I can hardly tell you for laughing. I have had a proposal of marriage—at my age! Guess who from?" "Not Bob Fawcett?" said Mr Charteris with a sudden grim suspicion. "Bob Fawcett!" Mrs. Pottle almost shouted with laughter. "You are just an old goose, Andrew. No; from Mr. Schwab, Hildebrand Schwab, who tried to woo me with a German encyclopaedia. It just beats anything!" Mr. Charteris grunted. "Knows that Isidore left you a pile, I suppose." "You’re not complimentary, Andrew. Mr. Schwab called me a ’beautiful objeck’, fell in love with me because he had to help me up the gangway, ’bush me zrough!’ Oh!——" The recollection was too much for Mrs. Pottle; her portly double chin shook, and she was breathless with laughter. "I advise a visit to the stewardess, Jane," said Mr. Charteris. "Excitement is dangerous—at your age." "Wait a moment, Andrew," said his sister as he made to ascend the ladder. "You thought Bob might have fallen a victim to Isidore’s pile? You’re as blind as a bat to everything but business. Let me tell you a secret, sir. Bob is head over ears in love with Ethel." "Eh?" "And Ethel, though of course she won’t admit it, is, his, well——" "What?" "Yes!" said Mrs. Pottle inconsequently. "Don’t look so fierce," she added, patting his arm. "Bob’s a good fellow; you won’t be disappointed in him."