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left to perform more esoteric duties with a stateliness sometimes achieved by thin people of painful bones.
    By the time Mrs Roxburgh had washed her hands and smoothed her hair, and added a pair of ear-rings to match the intaglio brooch, the steward re-appeared with a tureen.
    ‘The captain’s compliments,’ he said, ‘there’ll be sweetbreads atop of this, and a fowl. Better make the most of ’em, because the salt tack is all you can expect from now on.’
    As the passengers sat restraining with their spoons the circles of grease which eddied on the surface of the soup, Mr Roxburgh noticed his wife’s ear-rings. ‘I believe you would dress yourself up, Ellen, for a breakfast of yams and opossum with savages in the bush.’
    ‘I would dress myself up for my husband,’ she replied, ‘if he was there.’
    Downcast eyes did not prevent a certain fierceness of expression, and it pleased him to think he had dominion over a divinity, even one whose beauty was wrapped in nothing more mystical than a cloud rising out of a dish of greasy soup.
    As the evening progressed the sweetbreads proved to have disintegrated; the fowl had not done likewise because held together by antipodean muscle; and excessive sugar in the bread pudding soothed the palate at least, after the bitter ale in which the diners had drowned the worst of their revulsion.
    Too familiar to each other, they sat and crumbled untidy fragments of conversation.
    ‘The brown woman—that eagle—or vulture , would peck out a man’s liver for tuppence.’
    ‘You are unkind to ladies on principle, but depend on them more than most men.’
    ‘Do you think there are rats on board? I could swear I felt one run across me in my sleep.’
    ‘In your sleep! Since we left home, I’ve experienced worse awake. A dream rat is nothing, Mr Roxburgh!.’
    ‘A sea voyage is recuperative.’
    ‘Did you like the man? I liked the man better than the women.’
    ‘He was somebody to whom I had nothing to say.’
    ‘Tisn’t always necessary. There are simple, honest men who put us to shame. We ought to be silent with those.’
    Silence fell on the remains of the valedictory meal.
    ‘That is the kind of man your Mr Merivale is,’ she broke in with uncharacteristic harshness. ‘He has got wisdom in a hard country. He was always, I think, a countryman at heart, and most country folk are not for sellin’ what they know, or else,’ she raised her chin to recover her balance and her husband’s good opinion, ‘they dun’t want to be thought soft.’
    But Mr Roxburgh had neither heard nor seen, it appeared, as he rolled little pellets of grey bread. ‘Merivale was Garnet’s friend. They racketed over the county on horses. It’s a wonder they didn’t break their necks.’
    In spite of the pellets he continued rolling Mr Roxburgh was far removed from his physical activity.
    ‘Garnet has thickened. It’s surprising he didn’t re-marry. They say he’s attractive to women, and that there are several who would accept an offer.’
    ‘There are those who have his interests at heart. So I gathered.’
    ‘And were you surprised?’
    ‘Who am I to pass judgment on a man I only slightly know?’
    ‘But surely you formed an opinion?’
    ‘My opinion is that your brother is noticeably attached to his brother.’
    ‘We were always fond of each other. That is natural—something, Ellen, I should have thought you might accept.’
    ‘Oh, but I do! Indeed I do!’
    He heard the exasperated swish of petticoat as she came round the table and knelt beside him. In her agitation Mrs Roxburgh had dragged the cloth askew, threatening the remnants of their bread pudding.
    ‘I can accept anything’, she said, ‘for the sake of peace—in this frightening world’ and held her head for him to stroke.
    Upon realizing, he obliged.
    ‘Listen to the silence!’ Ellen Roxburgh shivered. ‘To the water!’
    From the moored vessel, each sounded immeasurable.
    ‘I’ll listen gladly’, he