Louis, on the other hand, though he was trying hard to keep content, realized that the very fact he had to try meant a fight was coming.  And his inflated sense of being a very fine fellow indeed in her eyes made it impossible for him to be honest as he had been at first, and tell her that he had caught sight of his enemy seeing to the edge of his sword, the priming of his pistols.  He could not ask her for help now—­he could not be less than a hero now!  He would fight it out alone.  Both of them had yet to realize that life is not a static condition:  both of them had to realize that lives are interdependent.

At Gibraltar happened something that was to have far-reaching effects.  She was watching the frowning Rock; Louis was pointing out the little threatening barbettes as they drew inshore slowly.  Out in the stream—­very much out—­lay a Norddeutscher Lloyd ship at anchor.

“Every inch of this water is mined,” he told her.  “A touch from switches up on the Rock would blow the whole lot of us to Kingdom Come.  The bally old German out there knows that.”

Marcella knew nothing of world politics.  He explained.

“England is mistress of the seas,” he orated proudly.  “The empire on which the sun never sets!  In a few years’ time every foreign ship—­especially Germans—­will be swept off the seas and Britannia will literally rule the waves.”

“She looks such a nice, comfortable, clean old ship,” began Marcella, feeling very sorry for her.

“Clean?” he cried.  “A German clean?  Filthy cockroachy holes, their ships are!  Why, there’s only one race on earth dirtier than the Germans and that’s the Scots.”

Then he stopped dead and giggled nervously as he realized what he had said.  Her eyes were blazing, her lips quivering; it was impossible for her to speak for a moment, her breath was coming in such sharp pants.  For a moment she looked just like Andrew Lashcairn, but before she had time to launch her indignation he was stammering and apologizing and looking so sorry that she decided to bury the hatchet.  And he went on breathlessly, trying to reinstate himself.

“You know, I hate the Germans.  I happen to know a lot about them and the menace they are to Eng—­Britain,” he said in a low, confidential voice.  He had, as a matter of fact, recently read in proof some spy-revelations his father’s firm was publishing.  He was well primed.  He went on talking rapidly, showing her Germany as an ogre.  She listened amazed; she thought all that sort of thing had died out years ago, but, thinking of her own indignant championing of Scotland, decided that she was just as illogical as Louis.

“However do you know all this?” she asked at last.

“Well—­as a matter of fact—­I did a bit of secret service work once.  It was one time when the Pater spewed me out of home.”

That day he was secretive and bewildering:  once he took a little bundle of crackling papers from his pocket and put them away again furtively, watching her as he did so.  She was impressed, but puzzled.