“I am sure you will forgive him,” she whispered.  “I can’t say why, but the poor fellow was looking so intently at me that he did not see what he was doing.”

The ex-Chief Justice was instantly mollified.  He did not mind the application of ice in that way—­rather liked it, in fact—­probably ice was susceptible to the fire in Miss Deane’s eyes.

Lady Tozer was not so easily appeased.  When Iris left the saloon she inquired tartly:  “How is it, John, that Government makes a shipowner a baronet and a Chief Justice only a knight?”

“That question would provide an interesting subject for debate at the Carlton, my dear,” he replied with equal asperity.

Suddenly the passengers still seated experienced a prolonged sinking sensation, as if the vessel had been converted into a gigantic lift.  They were pressed hard into their chairs, which creaked and tried to swing round on their pivots.  As the ship yielded stiffly to the sea a whiff of spray dashed through an open port.

“There,” snapped her ladyship, “I knew we should run into a storm, yet Captain Ross led us to believe——­ John, take me to my cabin at once.”

From the promenade deck the listless groups watched the rapid advance of the gale.  There was mournful speculation upon the Sirdar’s chances of reaching Singapore before the next evening.

“We had two hundred and ninety-eight miles to do at noon,” said Experience.  “If the wind and sea catch us on the port bow the ship will pitch awfully.  Half the time the screw will be racing.  I once made this trip in the Sumatra, and we were struck by a south-east typhoon in this locality.  How long do you think it was before we dropped anchor in Singapore harbor?”

No one hazarded a guess.

“Three days!” Experience was solemnly pompous.  “Three whole days.  They were like three years.  By Jove!  I never want to see another gale like that.”

A timid lady ventured to say—­

“Perhaps this may not be a typhoon.  It may only be a little bit of a storm.”

Her sex saved her from a jeer.  Experience gloomily shook his head.

“The barometer resists your plea,” he said.  “I fear there will be a good many empty saddles in the saloon at dinner.”

The lady smiled weakly.  It was a feeble joke at the best.  “You think we are in for a sort of marine steeple-chase?” she asked.

“Well, thank Heaven, I had a good lunch,” sniggered a rosy-faced subaltern, and a ripple of laughter greeted his enthusiasm.

Iris stood somewhat apart from the speakers.  The wind had freshened and her hat was tied closely over her ears.  She leaned against the taffrail, enjoying the cool breeze after hours of sultry heat.  The sky was cloudless yet, but there was a queer tinge of burnished copper in the all-pervading sunshine.  The sea was coldly blue.  The life had gone out of it.  It was no longer inviting and translucent.  That morning, were such a thing practicable, she would have gladly dived into its crystal depths and disported herself like a frolicsome mermaid.  Now something akin to repulsion came with the fanciful remembrance.