"Well, I suppose--that is--I thought perhaps you--" floundered the Tyro, reddening. Lord Guenn laughed outright. "You thought I was in the universal hunt? No, indeed! You see, I married Cecily's cousin. As for the house, I'm with you. I believe in keeping those things in the family. I say, where are you going when we land?" "London, I suppose." "Why not run up to Guenn Oaks for a week and see your great-grandad? Lady Guenn would be delighted. Cissy will be there, I shouldn't wonder." "That's mighty good of you," said the Tyro. A sudden thought amused him. "Won't your ancestors turn over in their graves at having a haberdasher at Guenn Oaks?" "They would rise up to welcome any of the blood of Spencer Forsyth," said the Briton seriously. "But what a people you are!" he continued. "Now an English haberdasher may be a very admirable person, but--" "Hold on a moment. I'm not really a haberdasher. While I was in college I invented an easy-slipping tie. A friend patented it and I still draw an income from it. It's just another of the tangle of mistakes I've gotten into. As people have got the other notion, I don't care to correct it." "That rotter, Sperry," said Lord Guenn with a grin--"I was glad to see you bowl him over. He's just a bit too impressed with his money. Fished all over the shop for an invitation to Guenn Oaks, and when he couldn't get it, wanted to buy the place. Bounder! Then you'll come?" "Yes. I'll be delighted to." "Jove! I'm forgetting my mission. Are you going to obey the imperial summons?" "Can't possibly," said the Tyro, "I'm very ill. Tell her, will you?" Lord Guenn nodded. "Perhaps one of you will condescend to let me in presently on all these plots and counterplots," he remarked as he walked away. Left to himself the Tyro floated away on cloudy imaginings of gold and rose-color. A week--a whole week--with Little Miss Grouch; a week of freedom on good, solid land, beyond the tyranny of captains, the espionage of self-appointed chaperons, and the interference of countless surrounding ninnies; a week on every day of which he could watch the play of light and color in the face which had not been absent from his thoughts one minute since-- _Thump!_ It was as if a huge fist had thrust up out of the ocean's depths and jolted the Clan Macgregor in the ribs. Several minor impacts jarred beneath his feet. Then the engines stopped, and the great hulk began to swing slowly to starboard in the still water. Excited talk broke out. Questions to which nobody made reply filled the air. An officer hurried past. "No. No damage done," he cried back mechanically over his shoulder. Presently the engine resumed work. The rhythm appeared to the Tyro to drag. Dr. Alderson came along. "Nothing at all," he said with the _sang-froid_ of the experienced traveler. "Some little hitch in the machinery." "Do you notice that there's a slant to the deck?" asked the Tyro in a low voice.