They were there the next day eleven strong; and Mrs. Sneyd was furious. She resented them from the moment she saw them getting off the tram-stop outside the cemetery gates. “You would have thought they could have left us alone on this of all days,” she said under her breath to Mr. Biddle. “You would really.” Mr. Biddle made no reply. He was holding young Violet by the hand—she had developed a passionate, adhesive affection for him—and he had caught a glimpse of something in the little mortuary chapel. What he had seen was eleven grown men in black coats proceeding to don the full regalia of the Order. That was something he hadn’t reckoned with. Evidently they had wired for a dispensation from Headquarters and were preparing to bury Mr. Sneyd with full Nautical honours. When the Captain, wearing his gold chain and his plumed hat, removed a bosun’s whistle from his pocket and proceeded to blow three shrill blasts on it as a signal for the Mariners’ part of the ceremony to begin, it was too much for Mrs.
