"Perhaps you are right, sir," he said; "but perhaps, at the same time, you forget that life has grown very bitter to all of us during the last hundred years or so.

Maybe the world is getting old and used up, maybe the fault is in ourselves,--but it is certain that none of us nowadays are particularly happy, except at rare intervals when--" At that moment, in a lull of the storm, Thelma's voice pealed upwards from the saloon.

She was singing a French song, and the refrain rang out clearly-- "Ah! le doux son d'un baiser tendre!" Errington paused abruptly in his speech, and turning towards a little closed and covered place on deck which was half cabin, half smoking-room, and which he kept as his own private sanctum, he unlocked it, saying-- "Will you come in here, sir?
It's not very spacious, but I think it's just the place for a chat,--especially a private one." Gueldmar entered, but did not sit down,--Errington shut the door against the rain and beating spray and also remained standing.

After a pause, during which the _bonde_ seemed struggling with some inward emotion, he said resolutely-- "Sir Philip, you are a young man, and I am an old one.

I would not willingly offend you--for I like you--yes!" And the old man looked up frankly: "I like you enough to respect you--which is more than I can say to many men I have known! But I have a weight on my heart that must be lifted.