“Some day I shall be able to repay you for all your goodness,” she said. “I am only grateful now--grateful altogether. And you will tell me all you knew of him--all that he said and did before he died?” “I will gladly tell you all I know,” he answered, and he looked at her compassionately, and yet with a little scrutiny, as though to know more of her and how she came to be in Aden. He turned to me inquiringly. I interpreted his thought by saying: “I am the surgeon of the ‘Fulvia’. I chanced upon Miss Caron here. She is travelling by the ‘Fulvia’.” With a faint voice, Justine here said: “Travelling--with my mistress.” “As companion to a lady,” I preferred to add in explanation, for I wished not to see her humble herself so. A look of understanding came into Roscoe’s face. Then he said: “I am glad that I shall see more of you; I am to travel by the ‘Fulvia’ also to London.” “Yet I am afraid I shall see very little of you,” she quietly replied. He was about to say something to her, but she suddenly swayed and would have fallen, but that he caught her and supported her. The weakness lasted only for a moment, and then, steadying herself, she said to both of us: “I hope you will say nothing of this to madame? She is kind, most kind, but she hates illness--and such things.” Galt Roscoe looked at me to reply, his face showing clearly that he thought “madame” an extraordinary woman. I assured Justine that we would say nothing. Then Roscoe cordially parted from us, saying that he would look forward to seeing us both on the ship; but before he finally went, he put on the grave a small bouquet from his buttonhole. Then I excused myself from Justine, and, going over to Miss Treherne, explained to her the circumstances, and asked her if she would go and speak to the afflicted girl. She and Mrs. Callendar had been watching the incident, and they eagerly listened to me. I think this was the moment that I first stood really well with Belle Treherne. Her sympathy for the bereaved girl flooded many barriers between herself and me. “Oh,” she said quickly, “indeed I will go to her, poor girl! Will you come also, Mrs. Callendar?” But Mrs. Callendar timidly said she would rather Miss Treherne went without her; and so it was. While Miss Treherne was comforting the bereaved girl, I talked to Mrs. Callendar. I fear that Mrs. Callendar was but a shallow woman; for, after a moment of excitable interest in Justine, she rather naively turned the talk upon the charms of Europe. And, I fear, not without some slight cynicism, I followed her where she led; for, as I said to myself, it did not matter what direction our idle tongues took, so long as I kept my mind upon the two beside that grave: but it gave my speech a spice of malice. I dwelt upon Mrs. Callendar’s return to her native heath--that is, the pavements of Bond Street and Piccadilly, although I knew that she was a native of Tasmania. At this she smiled egregiously.