They walked up the steps and entered the hall. Miss Thompson was standing at her door, chatting with a sailor. A sudden change had taken place in her. She was no longer the cowed drudge of the last days. She was dressed in all her finery, in her white dress, with the high shiny boots over which her fat legs bulged in their cotton stockings; her hair was elaborately arranged; and she wore that enormous hat covered with gaudy flowers. Her face was painted, her eyebrows were boldly black, and her lips were scarlet. She held herself erect. She was the flaunting quean that they had known at first. As they came in she broke into a loud, jeering laugh; and then, when Mrs Davidson involuntarily stopped, she collected the spittle in her mouth and spat. Mrs Davidson cowered back, and two red spots rose suddenly to her cheeks. Then, covering her face with her hands, she broke away and ran quickly up the stairs. Dr Macphail was outraged. He pushed past the woman into her room. "What the devil are you doing?" he cried. "Stop that damned machine." He went up to it and tore the record off. She turned on him. "Say, doc, you can that stuff with me. What the hell are you doin' in my room?" "What do you mean?" he cried. "What d'you mean?" She gathered herself together. No one could describe the scorn of her expression or the contemptuous hatred she put into her answer. "You men! You filthy, dirty pigs! You're all the same, all of you. Pigs! Pigs!" Dr Macphail gasped. He understood. VIII _Envoi_ When your ship leaves Honolulu they hang _leis_ round your neck, garlands of sweet smelling flowers. The wharf is crowded and the band plays a melting Hawaiian tune. The people on board throw coloured streamers to those standing below, and the side of the ship is gay with the thin lines of paper, red and green and yellow and blue. When the ship moves slowly away the streamers break softly, and it is like the breaking of human ties. Men and women are joined together for a moment by a gaily coloured strip of paper, red and blue and green and yellow, and then life separates them and the paper is sundered, so easily, with a little sharp snap. For an hour the fragments trail down the hull and then they blow away. The flowers of your garlands fade and their scent is oppressive. You throw them overboard. THE END * * * * * BY W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM OF HUMAN BONDAGE THE MOON AND SIXPENCE THE TREMBLING OF A LEAF MRS. CRADDOCK THE EXPLORER THE MAGICIAN NEW YORK GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY