in the saloon, and offered him a guinea for his attendance on me, telling him in the most offensively polite way that I would not trouble him for any further services.  The doctor retorted very promptly and concisely; and though what he said was not dignified, I sympathized with him, and took care to be very friendly with him at dinner. (Meals take place on hoard ship at intervals of ten minutes:  it is horrifying to see the quantity of food the elderly people consume.) To prevent further hostilities I took care to be always in the way when the doctor encountered Sholto afterwards.  I cannot imagine Ned involving himself in such a paltry squabble.  It is odd how things come about.  I used to take Sholto’s genius for granted, and think a great deal of it.  In another sense, I used to take Ned’s genius for granted, and think nothing of it.  Now I have found out in a single fortnight that we saw all of Sholto that there was to be seen.  His reserves of talent existed only in our imagination.  He has absolutely no sense of humor; and he is always grumbling.  Neither the servants, nor the food, nor the rooms, nor the wine, satisfy him.  Imagine how this comes home to me, who, from not having heard grumbling for two years, had forgotten that men ever were guilty of it.  I flirted a little, a very little, with the doctor; not because I meant anything serious, but because it amused me and made the trip pleasant.  Sholto will not understand this.  One day, on board, I was indiscreet enough to ask Sholto the use of a piece of machinery belonging to the ship.  Ned would have known, or, if he had not, would very soon have found out.  Sholto didnt know, and was weak enough to pretend that he did; so he snubbed me by saying that I could not understand it.  This put me on my mettle; and I asked the surgeon that afternoon about it.  The surgeon didnt know, and said so; but he appealed to the first officer, who explained it.  I intended to revenge myself on Sholto by retailing the explanation to him next day; but unfortunately, whether through the first officer’s want of perspicuity or my own stupidity, I was not a bit the wiser for the explanation.

“I can tell you nothing as to what we are likely to do next.  As Sholto has given up all his prospects for me, I cannot honorably desert him.  I know now that I have ruined myself for nothing, and I must at least try to hide from him that he has done likewise.  I can see that he is not happy; but he tries so desperately to persuade himself that he is, and clings so to the idea that the world is well lost for me, that I have not the heart to undeceive him.  So we are still lovers; and, cynical though it sounds, I make him a great deal happier in my insincerity than I could if I really loved him, because I humor him with a cunning quite incompatible with passion.  He, on the other hand, being still sincere, tries my patience terribly with his jealousies and importunities.  As he has nothing to do, he is almost always with me; and