Old Bradshaws were overhauled and trains looked out, on the supposition that we would get in by such an hour on Tuesday.

We were steaming along the French coast, off the western promontory of Brittany.

The evening was fine, and though, of course, less warm than we had experienced of late, yet pleasant and summer-like.

We watched the distant cliffs of the Finistere mainland and the numerous little islands that lie off the shore, all basking in the unreal glow of a deep red sunset.

The first officer was in charge, a very cock-sure and careless young man, handsome and dark-haired; the sort of young man who thought more of creating an impression upon the minds of the lady passengers than of the duties of his position.
"Aren't you going down to your berth ?" I asked of Hilda, about half-past ten that night; "the air is so much colder here than you have been feeling it of late, that I'm afraid of your chilling yourself." She looked up at me with a smile, and drew her little fluffy, white woollen wrap closer about her shoulders.