The girl stood with one hand on the lapel of his coat, twisted a button backwards, and forwards. "Jerry, I—I wanted to thank you ... you were a real brick to me, that time. It saved my life, goin’ to the Sanatorium, an’ I couldn’t never have afforded it...." Her careful grammar became a shade confused. The man gave a little, deep laugh of embarrassment. "Rot! Molly, that’s all over and forgotten. No more nasty coughs now, eh?" He patted her shoulder clumsily. "An’ mind you drop me a line when that fathom of trouble of yours comes up to the scratch, and send me a bit of wedding-cake—here, hang on to this thing.... No, it’s nothing; only a little brooch.... Good-bye, old lady—good-bye. Good luck to you, and don’t forget to——" The girl raised her pretty, flushed face and gave a quick glance up and down the deserted corridor. "Ain’t you—aren’t you going to—say good-bye ... properly—Jerry?" The Junior Watch-keeper bent down. "’Course ... and another for luck...! Good-bye, dear; good-bye...!" The Young Doctor was waiting with his nose flattened against the darkened window of a gunsmith’s opposite when the Lieutenant joined him. His silence held a vague hint of disapproval as they fell into step. "That girl," he ventured presently, "isn’t she a bit fond of you, old thing?" The Junior Watch-keeper paused to light a pipe. "I—I don’t think so, Peter. Not more than she is of a dozen others." He glanced at his companion: "You don’t think I’ve been up to any rotten games, do you?" The other shook his head with quick protest. "But I like her awfully, and she’s a jolly good little sport. They all are, taking them all round, in a Naval Port. It’s a rotten life when you think of it ... cooped up there in that beastly atmosphere, year in, year out, listening to everlasting Service shop, or being made love to by half-tight fools. Their only refuge from it is in marriage—if they care to take advantage of some young ass. Who else do they meet...? The marvel of it is not that a few come to grief, but that so many are so jolly straight. That girl to-night—Molly—I suppose she has refused half a dozen N.O.’s. Prefers to wait till some scallywag in her own class can afford to take her away out of it. And I’ve heard her talking like a Mother to a rorty Midshipman—a silly young ass who was drinking like a fish and wasting his money and health pub-crawling. She shook him to the core. Lord knows, I don’t want to idealise barmaids—p’raps I’d be a better man if I’d seen less of them myself—but——" The Surgeon gripped his elbow soothingly. "I know—_I_ know, old son. Don’t get in a stew! And as for seeing less of them ... it’s hard to say. Unless a man knows people ashore, and is prepared to put on his ’superfine suitings’ and pay asinine calls when he might be playing golf or cricket, where else is he to speak to a woman all the days of his life? Dances...? I can’t dance."