“Oh yes, yes; I forgot--a widower, eh? And how’s the child? I always forgot to ask?” “The child is dead,” he answered gravely. “Dear me, that’s a pity; children are a terrible anxiety, as _I_ know! Well, I hope to come across you again, Wynne.” “I think it very likely that we shall meet again, and very shortly, for I am going out to Australia myself, almost immediately.” “No! Oh, I’m delighted to hear it! Law business, of course, with an immense fee, eh?” “On most important business, at any rate. And now I’ll say good-bye for the present, for I have a great deal to do before I start.” “And I’ve been jawing away about my family affairs and taking up your precious time! I’m awfully sorry. I say, I wish you could manage to come out with us in the _Victoria_. Could you?” “I’ll do my best.” And he hurried off to wire to Fenchurch Street to secure a berth. CHAPTER XLI. “LAURENCE!” The _Victoria_ was a crowded ship. There was a large contingent of Australian passengers, also many Anglo-Indians who changed at Aden, and a number of society swallows who were bound for Italy and Egypt. Madeline and Mrs. Leach shared a four-berthed cabin, and enjoyed the luxury of two spare berths, which served as holdalls for their belongings. Mrs. Leach had innumerable parcels, bags, boxes, books, a jewel-case, a tea-basket. She busied herself ere starting, in fixing up her affairs, and annexed fully three-quarters of the available space. Madeline was tired, and put on a tea-gown and lay in her berth languidly watching her partner making her toilette, arranging her hair, her dress, her rings, ere sallying forth to dinner and conquest. She looked remarkably handsome, prosperous, and triumphant as she turned to the wretched girl in the berth, and surveyed her exhaustively. She had adopted a curious way of staring at her the last few days--a gaze of polite, half-veiled insolence--that was distinctly irritating. “Well, dear Madeline”--the steamer had left the docks, and was steadily throbbing down the Thames--“so we are off, you see, and I am of the party--no thanks to _you_. Oh, I know all about it, dearest, and I know what you would little guess.” “What?” “Ah, no matter,” with a meaning smile. “No, I suppose it is no matter,” wearily. Nothing mattered, she was so tired--oh, so tired. She wished she was dead, and she slowly closed her eyes on her companion.