There was no answer, and she decided that he must have gone on deck.

It was crowded with passengers waiting for the little boats to take them ashore; Italians went here and there selling fruit, postcards and jewellery straight from Birmingham; two flat coal lighters were drawing ponderously alongside.  She could not see Louis.

From end to end she searched the ship, even going on to the upper deck, which to-day was not sacred to the upper-class passengers.  But he was nowhere to be seen.  A lump came into her throat, her knees felt a little shaky.

Going below again she saw Knollys looking about eagerly.

“Oh, there you are, miss.  Mr. Fame desired me to give you this.  He was considerably hurried.”

She took it with a word of thanks—­a little note, folded three cornerwise.

“I’m more sorry than I can say,” she read.  “The port doctor was an old St. Crispin’s man.  He noticed me on deck and spoke.  He and I were great pals at the hospital, and he asked me to go ashore with him.  He remembered how keen I was on gynecology, and has a queer case he’d like me to look at.  It’s his wife as a matter of fact.  I made all sorts of excuses, but he seemed so hurt I had to give way.  I know this will disappoint you horribly, but it seems unavoidable.  I’ll cut away as soon as I can, and we’ll still go to Pompeii.  After all, I hear we don’t sail till one o’clock, so there’ll be time—­we’ll come back in the moonlight.  Give my love to Jimmy and the schoolmaster.—­L.F.”

To her amazement she felt tears begin to prick her eyelids.  She blinked fiercely.

“Well, of all the babies!  Did it cry because it was wanting to go out, then?” she cried indignantly, and stood watching the coal bunkers being opened.  But she could not see much; she was thinking of Louis.

“You’ll get filthy here!” said the third officer behind her, “and most uncomfortable.  I should advise you to go ashore.”

“I can’t.  I’m waiting for someone,” she explained.

“Then I’d go up on the boat deck.  You’ve no idea how abominable it gets down here.  Coaling should be prohibited by Act of Parliament.”

“Which is the boat-deck?” she asked, glad that her voice was sensible again.  He pointed, and she turned away.

The ship was deserted, practically; everyone had gone ashore.  She went disconsolately towards the stairway.  On the bottom step sat Jimmy sobbing dismally.

“There they are!” he said, rubbing his eyes with one hand and pointing to a little boat out on the blue water.  “I did so want to go with them.”

Mrs. Hetherington in a white frock and blue sash was waving her hand gaily from the little boat.  Marcella suddenly felt indignant with her, and took Jimmy’s tear-stained hand.

“There they are!” she said, smiling.  “And here are we!  We’re both in the same boat, old man.  Come down to my little house.  I’ve something nice there.”