Lady Tittle was the relict of a middle-aged peer, who had outrun both his purse and his constitution, but had managed to leave her just a fair income, and she lived solely for pleasure.
She had been an ugly, ill-dressed girl, and knew nothing of the world till she met the late lamented Tittle, who had her forced on him, with a comfortable dowry, by her and his parents.
He had to do his duty as a husband, and he had taught her above a bit.
From the gaucherie of the schoolroom, Lady Felicia Tittle had developed into a really bad middle-aged woman.
The arts of cosmetics and the acquirement of the art of dress had given her a strangely fascinating charm, especially for very young men. She loved lust, and took every opportunity of gratifying that love.
With her was her flapper daughter, Honoria-Hony for short-'Hony soit qui maule ses pants,' as a nasty young man once said as he was feeling her in the dark.
She was sixteen, deliciously pretty, and her figure, though still in the flapper mould, gave men to think a good deal.
She was still a virgin; that is to say, she hadn't actually had it in her, but she had seen a good deal of the human form divine, and only prudential motives had kept the little skin web in her vagina unpierced.
Next to her at dinner sat Moss Hell, the eminent financier. His real name had been Moses Eli. The Moses, of course, became Moss, but in casting about for a second name when he settled down in London, he lost his temper and exclaimed, 'Oh, Hell!'
'Ma tear, you've got it,' said little Hannibal McGregor of Smyrna, McGregor Castle, N.B., and Warne Court, and Hell it remained, and was a pretty good prop to him, as is any eccentricity to a clever stock-jobber.
Moss Hell, profiting by a lurch in the ship- he knew some of the tricks of the trade-twined his leg round the unprotected calf of little Honoria, apologised effusively, and was rewarded by a genial wink.
Moss Hell loved flappers, and by the second entree had made his decision. Little Hony loved jewellery, and by the fish had made up hers. They were to be each other's for the six days to come on the briny.
There was no question about the success of Miss Jepps. Long before the poulet aux champignons Captain Russell James, RNR, was beginning to think a lot too much of his 9.30 date to pay proper courtesies to his other guests.
She looked radiant; she talked with a sparkle as bright as the Pommery; and she oudooked and outdressed every other woman at the table.
Mrs. Gunter Scrooge, who had on a dress three times as costly, and a face ten times as made up, glowered her enmity.
The last of the party on the 'good ship Mesopotamia'- one must use the phrase-worth talking about, were 'the Heavenly Twins,' as they were at once nicknamed, he a Yale scholar, going as a Rhodes scholar to Oxford, and she a Vassar girl going to tour Europe.
They were plum alike, and both genially nice looking; also, both well versed in the ways of the genial world.
With that we will conclude our list of the characters who set out with us on this 'Sentimental Journey'. We shall pick up others all over the world.
Dinner was over about 9.15. The captain cut it a bit short; he couldn't hold himself, and he was nervous of the attention of others.
The company dispersed. Mr. Silverwood found himself looking moodily over the taffrail, by the side of Moss Hell. He was thinking of Miss Jepps and her captain.
'This vos a fine ship,' said Hell.
'Yes, very.'
'My brother has a fine ship, too. Mein father was the owner and he fell overboard. My brother had the presence of mind to call to my father as he was drowning, “Father, if you don't come up the third time, can I have the ship?”
'“Yes.”
'And my father, in the presence of witnesses, mark you, said, “Yes,” before he sank. Otherwise, my uncle would have had the ship.'
And at that moment Miss Jepps was unloosening her corsets once more.
CHAPTER TWO. 'There is more in the sea air than salt'
The Mesopotamia slogged her path through the Atlantic. The night had turned treacherous; the North Atlantic squadron was somewhere in the vicinity, manoeuvring without lights; innumerable fishing boats drifted up through the mist; the Deutschland and the Admiral Veviers must be close behind, and the great liner was full in the highway of the ocean, but still the captain did not go on the bridge. Duty was insignificant beside the charms of Miss Jepps.
Captain James, RNR, saw red-not only stockings and lingerie, but passion. He would have rammed a battleship rather than stop ramming Miss Jepps, and he rammed her like hell. Only after the fourth successful attempt did he call a halt.
Miss Jepps lay panting on her stateroom bed; the captain was still buttoning his braces, when there came a dull boom obviously a heavy gun fired some two miles away.
'We've run into the manoeuvres,' said the captain, fiddling with his tie.
The boom was repeated. And again, obviously much closer.
There came a rapping at the door. An agitated voice said, 'Is Captain James there, miss?'
The captain himself opened the door, and noting the pale face of the first officer who awaited him, hurried the man away.
'I'm afraid there's something wrong, sir,' said the man. 'I thought we had only run into the manoeuvres, but they, whoever they are, have signalled us to stop, and what's more, they've put a shot across our bows. What are we to do?'
The captain, still hot and confused from the embraces of Miss Jepps, stumbled on deck and was nearly blinded by the glare of the most powerful searchlight he had ever encountered. A shell screamed over the Mesopotamia. There was no doubt about it; something was wrong. The passengers, by now thoroughly alarmed, were streaming on deck; the officers did their best to restrain any panic.
As the captain reached the bridge, the searchlight shut off like a turned down gas jet and a large grey vessel, like a cruiser, or a very large yacht, was plainly visible, not more than 150 yards away, steaming knot for knot with the Mesopotamia. Her lights blinked out the signal to heave to.
'They've done that four times already, sir,' said the first officer, 'but we didn't know where to find you. It was only Lady Tittle's suggestion-'
'All right, all right; confound the impudent brute, stopping a mail boat.'
'There he goes again, sir.'
'Heave to, or we sink you,' talked the stranger's lights to the Mesopotamia, and a shell sang close over the bridge.
The captain gave the necessary orders to acquiesce, and himself telephoned the engine-room to stop the engines.
The stranger curved in towards the Mesopotamia till both ships lay idle on the phosphorescent waters within seventy yards of each other.
There was a rattle of chains and a launch dropped from the side of the stranger. From the speed with which she approached the Mesopotamia, she was obviously motor driven.
Captain James stood at the top of the lowered gangway, the semi-scared, semi-curious passengers crowded the bulwarks.
The launch ran smartly alongside, and three young men, in light motor overalls, came quickly on board.
'Captain James?' said the leader, uncovering a very carefully brushed head of hair.
'Yes, sir; and what the hell do you mean by this extraordinary behaviour?'
'It's no use to bluster, sir,' answered the young man, suavely; 'it's piracy.'
'Piracy!'
'Yes, sir; piracy on the high seas.'
'But-'
'You are our prisoners, sir; it is useless to protest. I have but to whistle and my guns will sink you. Look!'
It was obvious; the liner's searchlight showed up an ugly collection of guns on the mysterious ship. Whether she was cruiser or armed yacht, it was difficult to tell from her lines, but that a little practice with those businesslike-looking 4.7 gentlemen could make the existence of the Mesopotamia a thing of the past admitted of no doubt.