CHAPTER VI.
All the physical exhilaration of his unlived youth seemed to be dancing in Philip Romilly's veins when he awoke the next morning to find an open porthole, the blue sea tossing away to infinity, and his steward's cheerful face at his bedside.
"Bathroom steward says if you are ready, sir, he can arrange for your bath now," the man announced.
Philip sprang out of bed and reached for his Bond Street dressing-gown.
"I'll bring you a cup of tea when you get back, sir," the steward continued.

"The bathrooms are exactly opposite." The sting of the salt water seemed to complete his new-found light-heartedness.

Philip dressed and shaved, whistling softly all the time to himself.

He even found a queer sort of interest in examining his stock of ties and other garments.

The memory of Elizabeth Dalstan's words was still in his brain.