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hotels, about anything…
    The others joined him, chiming in too quickly but with good intentions. Only Miss Withers and Candida Noring were silent. Before the dessert was served, both had left the table, Miss Withers to seek the deck and the fresh air which she had lacked for so many days, and Candida to go to her cabin mate.
    She found the door locked, and her insistent knocks brought no reply. Finally Candida went out on the promenade deck, and came where she could see in through the porthole. She pushed aside the drawn curtain and saw that the light was on.
    Rosemary Fraser, instead of sobbing brokenly on her berth, was sitting on the settee and calmly writing in a leather-bound book
    “Rosemary! Let me in!”
    But Rosemary kept on writing.
    “Rosemary!”
    The girl in white finally looked up. She stared full into the frightened, tanned face of Candida Noring. Her red lips opened and unbelievable sounds came forth.
    “Damn you to hell—oh, damn you, go away!” Her voice was low and soft, but it rang through Candida’s ears for long afterward. She tiptoed softly away.
    The Honorable Emily passed Candida in the passage, but they did not speak. She came on toward her own stateroom, shaking her head. “These Americans!” said the Honorable Emily. Then—“Poor girl!”
    She closed the stateroom door and rapidly changed her uncomfortable taffeta for a flannel robe. “I loathe practical jokes,” said the Honorable Emily finally.
    There was a faint scratching at the door, and she sprang, with a sudden access of joy, to open it. There stood Tobermory, his silky silver fur torn and bedraggled, and with the lust of battle still shining in his amber eyes. He entered quietly, carrying in his mouth a bundle of feathers.
    “Toby!” cried the Honorable Emily.
    Tobermory, startled, let go the feathers, which immediately resolved themselves into a fat robin. The robin swung to his feet, and spread his wings. Tobermory struck him down with a swift paw and looked up at his mistress.
    “Mine!” he said, in unmistakable cat language. But Tobermory was manifestly uncertain what to do with his prize.
    His mind was swiftly made up for him. Tobermory was grasped firmly by the slack of his neck and tossed into the berth. The Honorable Emily picked up the frightened, hunted robin, and held it against her cheek.
    “Poor, poor Dickie-bird,” she crooned. The robin, completely a pessimist by this time, did not even dare to flutter. He would as soon be eaten by a large creature as a small one.
    Sadly the Honorable Emily noted the pounding of the bird’s heart, its torn plumage, and the poor wounded claws which spoke for its futile clutching at rusty gear and swinging wires. “Poor, poor Dickie-bird!”
    Then she rang the bell furiously. When the steward approached, she demanded that he produce a bird cage.
    “I shall save him,” she promised the robin. “I shall save his poor little life willy-nilly!”
    The steward didn’t know of a bird cage. But, upon extreme pressure, he admitted that perhaps the ship’s carpenter could rig one up, out of wire and bits of rope, in the morning. “Chips is very handy with tools, ma’am,” he told her.
    The Honorable Emily cast her eyes around the little stateroom. “In the morning,” she agreed. “Tell him to rush it.”
    She saw Tobermory, proud in wounded dignity, watching from the berth. Tobermory had taken this robin, by sheer right of conquest, from the ship’s tomcat, who had made the mistake of underestimating his silky and effeminate-looking opponent, and who was now licking his wounds and wondering what struck him.
    The Honorable Emily had a bright thought. Under the berth was Tobermory’s traveling case. She pulled it out and inserted the robin, who hopped about inside and thought it as good as any other place. Any minute now he expected the worst.
    Tobermory’s eyes blazed. It wouldn’t have been so bad if this woman had eaten his prey, but to put it aside in that manner