"The water’s trickling down my neck!" Denis seconded her with, "It’s running a regular cascade off my hat rim!" Then the Atom spoke; it was the first remark she had made since they had started from Miss Kezia’s house in Henley Road. "Isn’t is _London_?" she said. Her father was amused. "You know, we do see rain occasionally at home," he observed. "There’s rain and _rain_!" the Atom declared sapiently, and relapsed again into her dour silence. Molly, with a sudden sob, put the fear that was in everyone’s mind into words. "It’s—awfully bad—for mother!" "Oh, I shall be all right, dear," Mrs. O’Brien insisted with tired cheerfulness. "I’ve a good mind to drop my bag and carry you!" her husband declared. "Oh, Owen, what a first appearance for the wife of the ship’s surgeon! Let me at least be dignified." Beyond the small figure of their guide the _Albany_ loomed, slowly taking shape in the dark, big, very mysterious. "I bet we came to the wrong entrance," Denis observed. Mr. O’Brien handed the guide a tip. "I’m afraid we did," he said. The guide disappeared with a "thankysir"; a steward’s head bobbed up from the hatchway and shouted out directions. Mr. O’Brien and Denis helped the others along a wet, slippery board, and over the ship’s side. The saloon looked more cheerful; deserted as it was, it wore quite a festive air after the wet and darkness outside. In the cabin they hung up a few things, to give it a more homelike air, and because it was easier to do something than not. They procured coffee from the steward, but no one wanted it. Everyone pretended they did, except Sheila Pat, who never pretended. Mrs. O’Brien made her drink it. "You are cold and wet, dear; it—I—will—" She stopped abruptly. Nell saw and understood. She went close. "I—I will take care of her—" she whispered. She had promised it so often, but Mrs. O’Brien turned to her gratefully. "Yes, dear," she said; her eyes went from Nell back again hungrily to the bit of brow and head that Sheila Pat’s big coffee cup left exposed. "I know you will, Nell," she said gently, and kissed her. Several other passengers had arrived and sat or stood about the saloon and cabins with an air of unsettledness, of uncertainty. The last minute came suddenly at the end. There was a sort of breathless rush; injunctions, good-byes, forcedly hopeful prognostications. "A year soon passes!" Mr. O’Brien said again. A little later they were in the omnibus once more. There were gaps now; there was so much room to move about. Those gaps gave a poignant reality to the loneliness.