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his emotional nature that he would cool as quickly as he flushed – and with a step again springy he swung into the alley-way towards his cabin on the starboard side. As he did so, Mrs Baynham entered the passage from the opposite end, her tall figure trimmed to the breeze, which already had whipped a fine blood to her cheeks. He stood aside, hat in hand, to let her pass, and as she brushed by him in the narrow alley he said suavely:
    â€˜Good morning.’
    It was, he knew, no more than courtesy: and courtesy had its roots in Christian charity.
    But she did not even look at him. Her big sulky eyes seemed fixed upon infinity. Then she turned at the corner and was gone, leaving a queer uneasiness about him and a tenuous fragrance which vanished instantly upon the breeze. He stood still, quite unusually upset by this rebuff following so closely upon the other; then he moved off slowly. It was the wind, he thought, his face downcast; she couldn’t have heard. And, only half reassured, still thinking of her look, rather unhappily he entered his cabin.

Chapter Five
    The ship was slapping into the Irish Sea, the bugle had blown, and with one exception the passengers met together at lunch and seated themselves at table with the captain. The Aureola was at heart a cargo ship – often the phrase banana boat was levelled with derisory intent – but not to Captain Renton. To Peter Renton she was a ship, a sweet taut ship, and he that trim ship’s master. For he had a deep instinctive understanding of the sea and a rare sense of that dignity which, he held, should vest those who seek it out. His own kin for years had followed the sea; he knew their histories and the histories of others more eminent than they. He had served his time in sailing-ships, and known the rigours of the South-West Passage. His library held books on famous mariners, on Nelson, whom he revered. And when the spirit took him he would speak with kindling eye of these great men and their connection with the islands where he coasted: of Columbus sailing from Gomera to discover America for Spain, of the assault on Las Pahnas by Drake and Hawkins, of Nelson losing an arm at Santa Cruz, and Trowbridge battering his way through the Plaza de la Iglesia when all – beside the Spanish treasure – seemed lost.
    That was the man and this his method: with an autocrat’s eye and tongue he kept his vessel fit, ran it to a proper order even to the niceties of his table – which he held to mark the standing of a gentleman. At table, in his phrase, he liked things so: the napery spotless, the glass gleaming, the cutlery ashine, a fresh flowering plant to soothe the eye. And, though his officers messed aft, he had his whim, fostered by a social sense, to dine with his passengers.
    â€˜A captain is a lonely man,’ he would say, ‘and this his compensation.’ And again: ‘To a point my passengers are my guests.’
    At this moment, critically eating his omelette, he sent his scrutiny round the table. Lady Fielding was on his right; and next to her, stiffly upright, Daines-Dibdin, whom he classified already as an ass. Then came Mrs Baynham, a d——d fine woman, he thought, but a devil to go; and Tranter, the missionary man, a dull effusive fellow – he had never liked the Yankees: his grandfather had been shot running the blockade on the S.S. Alabama – but sincere, at least, he felt. Upon his left sat Susan Tranter, of whom, despite his prejudice, he vaguely approved; she had a queer directness in her face which pleased him. And next to her a vacant chair, which made him frown. Then came Corcoran, whom he had met on shore – a little matter anent the easing of the passage money! – and whom be couldn’t help but like. And finally, as far to leeward as he could arrange – she had sailed with him before – the vulgar bulk of Mother Hemmingway.
    And now, his inquisition ended, he gave an ear to