Every berth in the _Blankshire_ had been secured, and the night before she sailed the well-known German Club gave its parting dinner; a wild affair, with unlimited quantities of champagne, loud patriotic speeches, songs and shouts of “Deutschland über Alles,” and finally a smashing of glass, a breaking of furniture, and the customary wrecking of the premises. In her frequent journeys from Rangoon, the popular _Blankshire_ had never been so crowded as on the present occasion; every berth was taken, chiefly by German passengers, who had also bespoken the chief seats at table and the best positions for their deck chairs; such was the crush that there would be no room whatever for casual travellers from Colombo or Port Said. The British, who were in a comparatively small minority, realised what a very bad time lay before them, when they and their country’s enemies must pass weeks and weeks in close proximity. Many had caught the previous steamer, but the remnant included Mrs. Gregory, Sophy, Shafto and MacNab—who was actually paying the passage out of his hoarded funds, and sternly resolved to join the Cameronians. The party were figuratively swamped by the multitude of Teutons, who had swarmed on board, already looking truculent, arrogant and victorious—drinking and toasting one another noisily in vast libations at the bar. On the wharf an immense gathering of natives assembled to speed numbers of kind and generous patrons, who (with an eye to the future) had distributed a considerable amount of largesse and flattery, as well as silk and satin finery. What with the Germans and their native friends, egress from and ingress to the steamer were almost impossible; the gangway was choked, and the shouting and hurrahing actually drowned the noise of the donkey-engine. Many friends had come to see the last of Mrs. Gregory and her party; the military and official element were bound to remain in Rangoon. Sophy was talking to Miss Maitland and Ella Pomeroy, when a fresh influx of joyous and exultant Germans came pouring down the gangway with the force and violence of a human cataract. Sophy and her friends were thrust rudely apart and, from where she had been pushed against the bulwarks, she saw Frau Wurm pass by, also Frau Muller, who threw her a glance that seemed to distil hatred. She was immediately followed by Bernhard, looking extraordinarily elated and deeply flushed. Catching sight of Sophy he halted, clicked his heels together, and said, with a sort of savage courtesy: “Ach, so here we are again, you and I, Miss Leigh, on the old ship that brought us out! I am delighted to have your company.” Sophy looked round for some means of escape, but she was helpless, being tightly wedged in between two bulwarks—the bulwark of the _Blankshire_ and Bernhard’s solid form—and separated from Mrs. Gregory by a seething crowd of jubilant Teutons.