Sometimes I feared my sex was dimly suspected, but mainly my mind was at rest on that score. The persons I was afraid of were the two military men and the German steward. The idea of my being a woman, I am sure, never entered the doctor’s mind. Had he entertained the least suspicion, he was just the man to settle it out of hand by sending me down among the soldiers’ wives to be examined. And yet, when I peeped at myself in one of the long cuddy mirrors, I’d wonder at the success of my masquerade. I repeat here that I was a very fine figure of a woman. In none of the points which are admirable in the equipment of the best shaped of my sex was I lacking. Yet it is certain that my impersonation was perfect, and that, if I except the three men I have named, there was not a man in the ship who by looks or speech caused me the least anxiety. However, to provide against the reasons of my being on board becoming known, should detection of my sex happen unexpectedly, I sought out Will one evening, and had a long, earnest chat with him. I put it to him thus: ‘You are supposed to know me; that is to say, you are supposed to know that I am the son of a man who was a client of your father. Suddenly I am discovered to be a girl. The captain sends for you, and you are challenged in the presence of the doctor. What will you say?’ ‘That’s where it is,’ said he. ‘Make one false step, and ten to one if you’re not presently up to your neck.’ He scratched his head and mused, staring at me. I would not help him. I wished to test the quality of his wits in case he should be challenged as I have said. After a bit, he exclaimed: ‘I should disown all knowledge of you.’ ‘That’s good,’ said I. ‘I’d say you told me your name was Simon Marlowe and that your father was a client of my father’s. I should tell no lie by owning I believed the story, because, you see, uncle was a client of the dad’s. Well,’ he went on, ‘I should tell them that now you proved to be a girl, you weren’t the young fellow I took you for, and I should call you a liar and disown all knowledge of you.’ ‘And in saying so you’d be strictly speaking the truth, so far as Simon Marlowe is concerned,’ said I, rejoiced to find him so ready. ‘You’ll disown me. You’ll call me a liar. You’ll know nothing whatever about me. That’ll be the programme, Will, should you be called upon.’ We stood discussing the matter some time, and then separated, but I was mightily glad to have had this talk with him. CHAPTER XXVIII SHE OVERHEARS TWO SAILORS TALKING