He assured her that she was the only woman he could ever love; he seized her ungloved hand and fervently kissed it; in short, he offered her his hand and heart in the most approved style, the while protesting his absolute unworthiness to aspire to such an honour as her acceptance of the same. "Net result, old dear," murmured my graceless informant, pressing the bell for another cocktail, "nix--a frost absolute, a frost complete." "She thought he and the whole ship were bully, and wasn't that little boy who'd brought them out in the launch the cutest ever, but she reckoned sailors cut no ice with poppa. She was just too sorry for words it had ever occurred, but there it was, and there was nothing more to be said." For the truth of these statements I will not vouch. I do know that on the night in question Jerry was refused by the only woman he'd ever really cared about, because he told me so, and the method of it is of little account. And if there be any who may think I have dealt with this tragedy in an unfeeling way, I must plead in excuse that I have but quoted my informant, and he was one of those in the gunroom who had lost money on the event. Anyway, let me, as a sop to the serious-minded, pass on to the other little event which I must chronicle before I come to my finale. In this world the serious and the gay, the tears and the laughter, come to us out of the great scroll of fate in strange, jumbled succession. The lucky dip at a bazaar holds no more variegated procession of surprises than the mix up we call life brings to each and all. And so, though my tone in describing Jerry's proposal has perhaps been wantonly flippant, and though the next incident may seem to some to savour of melodrama--yet, is it not life, my masters, is it not life? I was in the wardroom when it occurred. Jerry, standing by the fireplace, was smoking a cigarette, and looking like the proverbial gentleman who has lost a sovereign and found sixpence. There were several officers in there at the time, and--the Baron von Dressler. And the Prussian had been drinking. Not that he was by any means drunk, but he was in that condition when some men become merry, some confidential, some--what shall I say?--not exactly pugnacious, but on the way to it. He belonged to the latter class. All the worst traits of the Prussian officer, the domineering, sneering, aggressive mannerisms--which, to do him justice, in normal circumstances he successfully concealed, at any rate, when mixing with other nationalities--were showing clearly in his face. He was once again the arrogant, intolerant autocrat--truly, _in vino veritas_. Moreover, his eyes were wandering with increasing frequency to Jerry, who, so far, seemed unconscious of the scrutiny.