244 The Light That Failed ness of the blouse on the right hip and fingered his collar. “I can do no more,” Madame said, between laughing and crying. “Look at thyself — but I forgot.” “I am very content.” He stroked the creaseless spirals of his leggings. “Now let us go and see the captain and George and the lighthouse boat. Be quick, Madame.” “But thou canst not be seen by the harbor walking with me in the daylight. Figure to yourself if some English ladies —” “There are no English ladies; and if there are, I have forgotten them. Take me there.” In spite of this burning impatience it was nearly evening ere the lighthouse boat began to move. Madame had said a great deal both to George and the captain touching the arrangements that were to be made for Dick’s benefit. Very few men who had the honor of her acquaintance cared to disregard Madame’s advice. That sort of contempt might end in being knifed by a stranger in a gambling hell upon surprisingly short provocation. For six days — two of them were wasted in the crowded Canal — the little steamer worked her way to Suakin, where she was to pick up the superintendent of the lighthouse; and Dick made it his business to propitiate George, who was distracted with fears for the safety of his light-of-love and half inclined to make Dick responsible for his own discomfort. When they arrived George took him under his wing, and together they entered the red-hot seaport, encumbered with the material and wastage of the Suakin-Berger line, from locomotives in disconsolate fragments to mounds of chairs and pot-sleepers. “If you keep with me,” said George, “nobody will a for passports or what you do. They are all very usy.