It will be guessed that Mr. Chalmers Payne was in an irritable frame of mind. He was even retaliative, and to the liner's continued iteration of its innocent remark he retorted in the words of old Omar: “Perplext no more with Human or Divine, To-morrow's tangle to the winds resign, And lose your fingers in the tresses of The cypress-slender Minister of Wine. “And if the wine you drink, the Lip you press, End in what All begins and ends in--Yes; Think then you are To-day what Yesterday You were--To-morrow you shall not be less. “So when the Angel of the Darker Drink At last shall find you by the River-brink, And, offering his Cup, invite your Soul Forth to your Lips to quaff--you shall not shrink.” To these melancholy mutterings, the liner, insouciant, and not caring a peg for any philosophy--save that of the open road--shouldered along through jewel-green waves, and remarked, “Chug-chug, chug-chug!” Mr. Payne was inclined to quarrel with the Tent-Maker on one score only. He did not think that he was to-day what he was yesterday. Yesterday--figuratively speaking--he had hope. He was conscious of his youth. A fine, buoyant egotism sustained him, and he believed that he was about to be crowned with a beautiful joy. He had sauntered up to his joy, so to speak, cocksure, hands in pockets, and as he smiled with easy assurance, behold the joy turned into a sorrow. The face of the dryad smiling through the young grape leaves was that of a withered hag, and the leaves of the vine were dead and flapped on sapless stems! Well, well, there was always a sorry fatalism to comfort one in joy's despite. “Then to the rolling Heav'n itself, I cried, Asking, 'What Lamp had Destiny to guide Her little Children stumbling in the Dark?'” The answer was old as patience--as old as courage. But to theorize about it was really superfluous! Why think at all? Why not say chug-chug like the liner? “We are no other than a moving row Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go--” Dinner! Was it possible? The day had been a blur! Well, probably all the rest of life would be a blur. Anyway, one could still dine, and he recollected that the purée of tomatoes at last night's dinner had been rather to his liking. He seated himself deliberately at the board, congratulating himself that he would be allowed to go through the duty of eating without interruption. The place at his right had been vacant ever since they left Southampton. At his left was a gentleman of uncertain hearing and a bullet-proof frown. As the seat at his right had been vacant so long, he took the liberty of laying it his gloves, his sea-glass, a book with uncut leaves, and a crimson silk neck-scarf. “I beg your pardon,” said the waiter, “but the lady who is to sit here is coming, sir.”