ears.  All the chairs were full—­his own included (as happens to easy-tempered men)—­and he had only a brief colloquy with the party.  He noticed, however, that Mr. Carling had on the russet shoes, and wondered if they pinched him.  In fact, though he couldn’t have said exactly why, he rather hoped that they did.  He had just that sympathy for the nerves of two-and-fifty which is to be expected from those of five-and-twenty—­that is, very little.

When he went in to dinner the Carlings and Miss Blake had been at table some minutes.  There had been the usual controversy about what Mr. Carling would drink with his dinner, and he had decided upon Apollinaris water.  But Miss Blake, with an idea of her own, had given an order for champagne, and was exhibiting some consternation, real or assumed, at the fact of having a whole bottle brought in with the cork extracted—­a customary trick at sea.

“I hope you will help me out,” she said to John as he bowed and seated himself. “‘Some one has blundered,’ and here is a whole bottle of champagne which must be drunk to save it.  Are you prepared to help turn my, or somebody’s, blunder into hospitality?”

“I am prepared to make any sacrifice,” said John, laughing, “in the sacred cause.”

“No less than I expected of you,” she said. “Noblesse oblige! Please fill your glass.”

“Thanks,” said John.  “Permit me,” and he filled her own as well.

As the meal proceeded there was some desultory talk about the weather, the ship’s run, and so on; but Mrs. Carling was almost silent, and her husband said but little more.  Even Miss Blake seemed to have something on her mind, and contributed but little to the conversation.  Presently Mr. Carling said, “Mary, do you think a mouthful of wine would hurt me?”

“Certainly not,” was the reply.  “It will do you good,” reaching over for his glass and pouring the wine.

“That’s enough, that’s enough!” he protested as the foam came up to the rim of the glass.  She proceeded to fill it up to the brim and put it beside him, and later, as she had opportunity, kept it replenished.

As the dinner concluded, John said to Mr. Carling:  “Won’t you go up to the smoking room with me for coffee?  I like a bit of tobacco with mine, and I have some really good cigars and some cigarettes—­if you prefer them—­that I can vouch for.”

As usual, when the unexpected was presented to his mind, Mr. Carling passed the perplexity on to his women-folk.  At this time, however, his dinner and the two glasses of wine which Miss Blake had contrived that he should swallow had braced him up, and John’s suggestion was so warmly seconded by the ladies that, after some feeble protests and misgivings, he yielded, and John carried him off.

“I hope it won’t upset Julius,” said Mrs. Carling doubtfully.

“It won’t do anything of the sort,” her sister replied.  “He will get through the evening without worrying himself and you into fits, and, if Mr. Lenox succeeds, you won’t see anything of him till ten o’clock or after, and not then, I hope.  Mind, you’re to be sound asleep when he comes in—­snore a little if necessary—­and let him get to bed without any talk at all.”