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“And I must say that I have your father’s generosity to thank for mine.”
    “Oh—yes?” For a second Claire faltered, and a shadow crossed her lovely face. “He is a generous darling, I know. Only”—she sighed—”he doesn’t always understand everything.”
    “Few people do.” Leonie smiled. “But I should usually be inclined to trust his judgment.”
    Claire did not pursue this. And so they went out of the suite together, Leonie wondering if she were being very subtle and diplomatic, or merely shamefully neglecting to give an immediate warning to the man who was footing the bill for all this luxurious pleasure.
    As they entered the great first-class dining-room, it was obvious that a good deal of sorting out and amiable direction was in progress. But almost immediately Mr. Pembridge—looking very distinguished and handsome in his dark blue uniform, Leonie was forced to admit— picked them out and came across to greet them and escort them to his table.
    Feeling dreadfully conscious of her last remark to him, Leonie made the introductions as gracefully as she could, and saw Mr. Pembridge look at Claire with that penetrating but kindly glance which, she remembered now, he usually reserved for those who came under his professional care.
    Five other passengers joined them at the table and there were further introductions, Leonie discovering that the interesting-looking man on her left was a Nicholas Edmonds, while on her right was a young man who introduced himself as Clive Cheriot, and looked as though he might have something to do with the lighter side of stage life.
    Opposite her were a Mr. and Mrs. Hedbury, palpably a honeymoon couple who, though friendly, were not likely to take any great interest in anyone but each other. And, finally, on the left of Mr. Pembridge—who had put Claire at his right hand—there was an extremely attractive-looking woman, not specially young, whose dark eyes and wide, smiling mouth suggested that she knew how to make life yield most of the things she wanted.
    Just as they sat down, Kingsley Stour came past, on the way to his table. And, though he bestowed on Claire no more than a slight conventional smile and bow, he greeted Leonie with such marked friendliness and admiration that she was both shocked and disquieted.
    Not that she could not take as much friendliness and admiration as the next girl. But, knowing what she did, she could not doubt that the young Assistant Surgeon was indulging in a clever piece of camouflage, in marked variance with his apparent candor. And no one likes to be used for such a purpose. Particularly if there is also a risk of someone observing it all with a certain ironic amusement.
    Managing not even to glance at Mr. Pembridge, Leonie turned to Nicholas Edmonds, who fortunately launched immediately into a conventional inquiry as to how far she and her companion were travelling.
    “We’re going the whole way to Sydney. Miss Elstone has relatives there,” Leonie explained. And then, remembering Claire’s earnest request, she refrained from adding anything about her own special status, though she felt faintly uncomfortable as she did so.
    “Then you’re not doing the Pacific cruise afterwards?”
    “I—don’t think so,” said Leonie, wondering whether, in view of the unlooked-for complication, she and Claire would ever reach even Sydney.
    Then, making an effort to appear carefree and interested, she asked about Mr. Edmonds’ own plans and found that he was travelling for health reasons, and that he did propose to take in the Pacific part of the rim later.
    As dinner progressed, Leonie decided that she liked him. He had a thin, keen, rather worldly face, and an unusually charming smile when anything amused him. But there was an underlying quality of melancholy about him which might, she thought, arise either from indifferent health or a certain amount of disillusionment with life.
    It was he who told her in an undertone the identity of the