WHITEWASH
do with it. You're not an old hand." He looked at her admiringly. "Bad company, my girl, bad company."
Her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. There in the crowd stood Victoria, looking at her. She tried to raise her head and walk haughtily by, but she could not. Her eyes would fix themselves on the face of her former friend. She saw an expression of the utmost amazement cross Victoria's face, saw those fine, fearless gray eyes travel back to her with sudden comprehension.
Victoria slipped from her place with a matter-of-fact air, and quietly joined her.
"Permit me to accompany this lady," she said, leaning across and addressing the detective in a low voice. "There is some mistake."
He looked at her sharply, and nodded.
"Every one is leaving the ship," she continued, gently, in Philippa's ear. "Lower your veil, walk easily, and nobody will guess—talk to me; seem interested."
Philippa turned her tortured eyes to Victoria, but her paralyzed tongue could form no sound.
They reached the gangplank and the dock, con-
