WHITEWASH
words rang in her ears: "Drop that scallawag Pole if you want to save yourself!"
She was on the brink of a nervous collapse, but blind to her danger. An open door attracted her attention. Over it was the number 148. The light from the port-hole showed the simple, yet luxurious cabin furnishings. On the sofa bunk, with her back to the light, sat a tall woman, wearing a modish, forward-tilted hat and a tan ulster, and holding loosely in her lap a bunch of red carnations.
Philippa mustered her courage, and assumed the manner of an old acquaintance.
"I have come to wish you a pleasant trip, Madame Tollé, and to bring you some books to lighten your journey." She spoke in French, with an affected ease, but in spite of herself her voice was thin, excited, and broken.
The woman rose gracefully, and greeted her.
"You are very good," she said; and she closed the cabin door sharply.
Philippa, with a sigh of relief, deposited her burden on the sofa, and stood awkwardly.
"So," the woman continued, with a strange
