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 before the act of waiting so happy and so vexatious.

But he was not of the sort to hurry matters, or plan vulgar stratagems among deck-chairs or places at table. From the upper end of the captain's mess, he had the mild pleasure of bowing to Miss Holborow at the lower. She sat, in white, beside a prim little woman in grey. Down the length of the table the punkah wagged slow and cool, like a boom with a valance of canvas flapping below. As he stole a look under the frill of this from time to time, he could see the aunt utter a few staid sentences, and the girl reply.

Presently, to his surprise, in marched a white-clad giant, his friend of the Saigon boat,—Borkman of the parted beard. He chose the chair opposite the two ladies, and bowed with an almost familiar air. They returned the bow graciously enough.