Alan led the way aft and down the companion-way to the cabin where a dim light burned. Of the two stateroom doors, one disclosed an empty cabin, the other was locked, Trying the handle, Alan fancied he heard a sound within. Pausing, he called, with a thrill of fearful hope:
"Hello in there!"
The response was a cry of incredulous delight: "Alan!"
By way of answer he hurled all his hundred and eighty pounds against the door. The lock splintered away from its socket, the door flew open with a bang, and Alan strode into the room with a cry: "Rose!"
His sweetheart met him halfway, her arms uplifted, her countenance transfigured.
The discreet Mr. Barcus turned and ascended the companion-way, his nose wrinkled with misgivings.
"Blest if I know how he can tell 'em apart," he remarked. "Not that I blame him for taking a chance: it wouldn't pain me any to find out I'd kissed the wrong girl—not, that is, unless she didn't care for my technique. In that case, I guess the sequel would be apt to prove tolerable agonizing!"
