Amber heaved a long sigh and then, observing the glimmer of amusement in the girl’s eyes, smiled also. “Rank bad weather, my lady,” he said ruefully, “heaven’s weepin’, England in mourning at the loss of her son, and all that sort of thing.” “She must bear her troubles,” said the girl mockingly, and Amber marvelled that she could be so cheerful under such distressing circumstances--for I fear that Amber was an egotist. In the great barnlike shed adjoining the quayside they left the carriage and made their way across the steaming quay to the gangway. “We will find a dry place,” said Amber, “and I will deposit you in comfort whilst I speak a few kindly words to the steward.” He left her in the big saloon, and went in search of his cabin. He had other matters to think about--the important matters; matters affecting his life, his future, his happiness. Now if he could only find a gambit--an opening. If she would only give him a chance of saying all that was in his heart. Amber, a young man remarkably self-possessed in most affairs of life, tossed wildly upon a tempestuous sea of emotion, in sight of land, with a very life-line at hand to bring him to a place of safety, yet without courage to grasp the line or put the prow of his boat to shore. “For,” he excused, “there may be rocks that way, and it is better to be uncomfortable at sea than drowned on the beach.” Having all these high matters to fill his mind, he passed his cabin twice, missed his steward and found himself blundering into second-class accommodation amongst shivering half-caste folk before he woke up to the fact that his errand was still unperformed. He came back to the saloon to find it empty, and a wild panic came on him. She had been tired of waiting--there was an early train back to town and she had gone. He flew out on to the deck, ran up and down companionways innumerable, sprinted along the broad promenade deck to the amazement of stolid quartermasters, took the gangway in two strides and reached the damp quay, then as quickly came back to the ship again to renew his search. What a hopeless ass he was! What a perfect moon-calf! A picture of tragic despair, he came again to the saloon to find her, very cool and very dry--which he was not. “Why, you are wet through,” was her greeting. Amber smiled sheepishly. “Yes, lost a trunk, you know, left on the quay--just a little rain--now I want to say something----” He was breathless but determined as he sat beside her. “You are to go straight to your cabin and change your clothes,” she ordered. “Don’t worry about that, I----” She shook her head. “You must,” she said firmly, “you will catch all sorts of things, besides you look funny.” A crowning argument this, for men will brave dangers and suppress all manner of heroic desires, but ridicule is a foe from which they flee.