"He was caught on a liner, wasn't he?" murmured Mrs. Blair.
There was a slight rattle behind us. I turned quickly. Mr. Chichester had dropped his coffee-cup.
Our party soon broke up; Mrs. Blair went below to sleep and I went out on deck. Colonel Race followed me.
"You're very elusive, Miss Beddingfeld. I looked for you everywhere last night at the dance."
"I went to bed early," I explained.
"Are you going to run away to-night too? Or are you going to dance with me?"
"I shall be very pleased to dance with you," I murmured shyly. "But Mrs. Blair?"
"Our friend, Mrs. Blair, doesn't care for dancing."
"And you do?"
"I care for dancing with you."
"Oh!" I said nervously.
I was a little afraid of Colonel Race. Nevertheless I was enjoying myself. This was better than discussing fossilized skulls with stuffy old professors! Colonel Race was really just my ideal of a stern silent Rhodesian. Possibly I might marry him! I hadn't been asked, it is true, but, as the Boy Scouts say, Be Prepared! And all women, without in the least meaning it, consider every man they meet as a possible husband for themselves or for their best friend.
I danced several times with him that evening. He danced well. When the dancing was over, and I was thinking of going to bed, he suggested a turn round the deck. We walked round three times and finally subsided into two deck-chairs. There was nobody else in sight. We made desultory conversation for some time.
"Do you know, Miss Beddingfeld, I think that I once met your father? A very interesting man—on his own subject, and it's a subject that has a special fascination for
