The Bride touched her husband’s sleeve in a lull in the handshaking and congratulations. "Isn’t it rather nice to see people enjoying themselves! Don’t you feel as if you wanted everybody to be as happy as we?—_Look_ at Betty and that boy.... Champagne, if you please! How ill the child will be; and she’s got to go back to school to-morrow...." Her husband laughed softly. "Pretty little witch.... Torps has taken it away from her and given her some lemonade instead. Where’s Mother?—Oh, I see: hobnobbing with the Colonel over a cup of tea. What a crush! Dear, can’t we escape soon....?" "Very soon now—poor boy, are you very hot in those things?" "Not very. The worst part’s coming—the rice and slippers and good-byes. Are you very tired, darling...?" * * * * * "Good-bye—Good-bye! Good-bye, Daddie.... Yes, yes.... I will.... Good-bye, Betty darling.... Good-bye——" * * * * * "Good-bye, Mother mine.... Torps, you’ve been a brick..... So-long! Good-bye! ... Not down my neck, Betty! ... Yes, I’ve got the tickets—— Good-bye, Good-bye!——" * * * * * The lights of Dover were twinkling far astern. Two people, a man and a woman, walked to the stern of the steamer and stood close together, leaning over the rail. "What a lot of Good-byes we’ve said to-day," murmured the woman, watching the pin-points of light that vanished and reappeared. She fell silent, as if following a train of thought, "And after all, we’re only going to Paris!" "We’re going further than that——" The man took possession of her slim, ungloved hands, and the star-powdered heavens alone were witness to the act. "All the way to El Dorado, darling!" She gave him back the pressure of his fingers, and presently sighed a little, happily, as a child sighs in its sleep. "And we haven’t any return tickets...." *V.* The members of the wedding party returned to the ship and straggled into the Mess. Each one as he entered unbuckled his sword-belt, loosened his collar, and called for strong waters. A gloom lay upon the gathering: possibly the shadow of an angel’s wing. "I feel as if I’d been to a funeral," growled the Paymaster. "Awful shows these weddings are!" "Poor old Guns!" said the A.P. lugubriously. "She’s a jolly nice girl, any way," maintained the Young Doctor. "Yes," sighed the Junior Watch-keeper, "but still.... He _was_ a good chap...." The Indiarubber Man was the last to enter. He added his sword to the heap already on the table, glanced at the solemn countenances of his messmates, and lit a cigarette. "_Sunt rerum lachrimæ_. I am reminded of a harrowing story," he began, leaning against the tiled stove, "recounted to me by a—a lady.