"
By the time the ship had well got her nose down the coast of Spain, Miss
Filbert had created her atmosphere and moved about in it from end to end
of the quarter-deck. It was a recognisable thing, her atmosphere; one
never knew when it would discharge a question relating to eternity. And
persons unprepared to give satisfaction upon this point--one fears there
are always many on a ship bound east of Suez--found it blighting. They
moved their long chairs out of the way, they turned pointedly
indifferent backs, the lady who shared Miss Filbert's cabin--she
belonged to a smart cavalry regiment at Mhow--went about saying things
with a distinct edge. Miss Filbert exhausted all the means. She
attempted to hold a meeting forward of the smoking cabin, standing for
elevation on one of the ship's quoit buckets to preach, but with this
the Captain was reluctantly compelled to interfere on behalf of the
whist-players inside. In the evening after dinner she established
herself in a sheltered corner and sang. Her recovered voice lifted
itself with infinite pathetic sweetness in songs about the poverty of
the world and the riches of Heaven. The notes mingled with the churning
of the screw and fell in the darkness beyond the ship's lights abroad
upon the sea.
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