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 ardship. His mouth was open, but he had nothing to say. Finally he exclaimed:

"And you knew all the time!"

"Since the day when I saw your father's watch lying on the table—the watch you forgot to pawn."

Paul winced at the needless thrust. If the old man only knew how he treasured the keepsake!

"Do you think your mother would have been pleased at the thought of your leaving school so young?"

"How do I know? I don't think she would have objected if she knew how stupid it was!" His only clue to his mother was through Aunt Verona, and Aunt Verona had always seemed to be on his side. "Do you think she would have objected? "he inquired diffidently.

"She was a rare one for books and music. That old piano there used to belong to her."

So that was why the old man had suggested his playing it in the dog-watches! His own mother's piano! Verily, life was almost too painfully miraculous. Music was the weak spot in his armour. There had been moments during the long voyage when he had yearned for the big piano in the playroom. But if it must come to a choice between music and the sea, between a life of practising and a life of seeing hundreds of new countries, he could only decide in favour of the latter. In his mind, for months and months, had been running the phrase: "Qui n'oubliera jamais ces soirées de Munich et de Vienne." He, too, must see places that he would never be able to forget. What education could compare with a visit to cities steeped in music and romance, cities which had fostered rare spirits! Besides, education was largely a matter of books. He had learned ten times as much in Aunt Verona's kitchen as he had learned from Miss Ranston and Miss Hornby.

"I don't see why I can't read at sea as well as at school," he argued.