"I agree with you, by Ged, seh!" said the Colonel reflectively, as he looked after his daughter pacing with free strides along the deck with the stout little stewardess over whom she towered by a full head.

Miss Ogilvie found her aunt, Miss Judith Hayes, in her bunk. From the clothes hung round and laid, neatly folded, on the upper berth it was apparent that she had undressed as for the night. When the young girl realised this she said impulsively:

"Oh, Aunt Judy, I hope you are not ill. Do come up on deck. The sun is shining and it is such a change from the awful weather in New York. Do come, dear; it will do you good."

"I am not ill Joy—in the way you mean. Indeed I was never in better physical health in my life." She said this with grave primness. The girl laughed outright:

"Why on earth Aunt Judy, if you're well, do you go to bed at ten o'clock in the morning?" Miss Hayes was not angry; there was a momentary gleam in her eye as she said with a manifestedly exaggerated dignity:

"You forget my dear, that I am an old maid!"

"What has old-maidenhood to do with it? But anyhow you are not an old maid. You are only forty!"

"Not forty, Joy! Only forty, indeed! My dear child when that unhappy period comes a single lady is put on the shelf—out of reach of all masculine humanity. For my part I have made up my mind to climb up there, of my own accord, before the virginal undertakers come for me. I am in for it anyhow; and I want to play the game as well as I can."

Joy bent down and kissed her affectionately. Then taking her face between her strong young hands, and looking steadily in her eyes, she said:

"Aunt Judy you are not an old anything. You are a deal younger than I am. You mustn't get such ideas into your head. And even if you do you mustn't speak them.