A number were forward now, singing the battle songs of the British and the weird ones of the natives.

Quite a crowd had collected to listen, including Ridgeway and Veath, who were strolling along the deck, arm in arm, enjoying an after-dinner smoke, and had paused in their walk near the group, enjoying the robust, devil-may-care tones of the gallant subalterns.
Miss Vernon was in her stateroom trying to jot down in a newly opened diary the events of the past ten days.

She was up to ears in the work, and was almost overcome by its enthusiasm.

It was to be a surprise for Hugh at some distant day, when she could have it printed and bound for him alone.

There was to be but one copy printed, positively, and it was to belong to Hugh.