“Yes, a big man in every way, trades on his voice and his good looks, as well as in teak and paddy—an unscrupulous devil where women are concerned; the lady he is escorting is Mrs. Lacy; you would not think to look at her, so slim, gracious and smiling, that she is a noted man-eater.” “What do you mean?” “Well, perhaps the expression is a bit too strong. She has a subtle way of attracting mankind. It amuses her and, in the long run, does no harm. Wait till you see how they will collect about her on board—like flies round a pot of honey.” “Shall you be one of the flies?” “Possibly. I enjoy being fascinated and I like honey! She is very amusing and dances like a moonbeam. Those are two coffee planters, wonderful pals and bridge players, and here comes a strange lady, probably a tourist—rich too.” Shafto looked and saw a handsome grey-haired woman, with a round smiling face, wearing a long sable coat and an air of complacent prosperity. “Why, for a wonder I know her!” he declared. “It’s Mrs. Milward. Her sister was our neighbour at home; I’ve met her often.” “Who is she?” “A widow—very rich, I believe. I think her daughter is married to a man in India—or Burma.” “Is this the daughter following up the gangway?” “No; I’ve never seen her before.” “I say, what a pretty girl—and a ripping figure! Once seen, never forgotten, eh? When you have claimed the chaperon you must present me to the young lady—especially as you are out of the running yourself.” “Out of the running—what do you mean?” “Merely that I happened to witness that tender parting at Tilbury—the little girl in the green hat, who was crying her eyes out!” “She was my cousin,” protested Shafto; “nothing more.” “Oh, come!” rejoined Hoskins, with a knowing sidelong glance. “Upon my honour! nothing whatever to me but that.” “Well, I suppose I’m bound to take your word for it, but it looked uncommonly touching—so like the real thing, and yet merely a case of strong family affection!” “Yes, that’s all.” “Well, let us descend and make ourselves presentable for lunch; nothing like first impressions.” After lunch, when the new-comers had found their places and scattered about, watching the shores of France recede, Shafto approached Mrs. Milward and bowed himself before her. “Why, Douglas!” she exclaimed, “this _is_ a surprise, a delightful surprise. What on earth are _you_ doing here?” “Making a voyage to Rangoon.” “Rangoon! So am I. An amazing coincidence. Now come and sit down at once and tell me all about yourself.” “I think you have heard all there is to know.” “Yes; that you had become so distant and reserved and so like an oyster in its shell, and there was no getting you to ‘Tremenheere.’” “But I was not my own master—I was in an office.” “My dear boy, where there’s a will there’s a way.” “There is no way of taking leave—unless you wish to get the key of the street,” he retorted with a laugh. “And what takes you to Rangoon?”