"Ah, when people are in the same boat--literally--they belong a little to each other."
"That"s so," said Mrs. Peck. "I don"t know Miss Mavis but I know all about her--I live opposite to her on Merrimac Avenue. I don"t know whether you know that part."
"Oh yes--it"s very beautiful."
The consequence of this remark was another "Pshaw!" But Mrs. Peck went on--"When you"ve lived opposite to people like that for a long time you feel as if you were acquainted. But she didn"t take it up to-day; she didn"t speak to me. She knows who I am as well as she knows her own mother."
"You had better speak to her first--she"s shy," I remarked.
"Shy? Why she"s nearly thirty years old. I suppose you know where she"s going."
"Oh yes--we all take an interest in that."
"That young man, I suppose, particularly."
"That young man?"
"The handsome one, who sits there. Didn"t you tell me he is Mrs.
Nettlepoint"s son?"
"Oh yes; he acts as her deputy. No doubt he does all he can to carry out her function."
Mrs. Peck was silent a moment. I had spoken jocosely, but she received my pleasantry with a serious face. "Well, she might let him eat his dinner in peace!" she presently exclaimed.
"Oh, he"ll come back!" I said, glancing at his place. The repast continued and when it was finished I screwed my chair round to leave the table. Mrs. Peck performed the same movement and we quitted the saloon together. Outside of it was a kind of vestibule, with several seats, from which you could descend to the lower cabins or mount to the promenade-deck. Mrs. Peck appeared to hesitate as to her course and then solved the problem by going neither way. She dropped upon one of the benches and looked up at me.
"I thought you said he would come back."
"Young Nettlepoint? I see he didn"t. Miss Mavis then has given him half of her dinner."
"It"s very kind of her! She has been engaged for ages."
"Yes, but that will soon be over."
"So I suppose--as quick as we land. Every one knows it on Merrimac Avenue. Every one there takes a great interest in it."
"Ah, of course, a girl like that: she has many friends."
"I mean even people who don"t know her."
"I see," I went on: "she is so handsome that she attracts attention, people enter into her affairs."
"She _used_ to be pretty, but I can"t say I think she"s anything remarkable to-day. Anyhow, if she attracts attention she ought to be all the more careful what she does. You had better tell her that."
"Oh, it"s none of my business!" I replied, leaving Mrs. Peck and going above. The exclamation, I confess, was not perfectly in accordance with my feeling, or rather my feeling was not perfectly in harmony with the exclamation. The very first thing I did on reaching the deck was to notice that Miss Mavis was pacing it on Jasper Nettlepoint"s arm and that whatever beauty she might have lost, according to Mrs. Peck"s insinuation, she still kept enough to make one"s eyes follow her. She had put on a sort of crimson hood, which was very becoming to her and which she wore for the rest of the voyage. She walked very well, with long steps, and I remember that at this moment the ocean had a gentle evening swell which made the great ship dip slowly, rhythmically, giving a movement that was graceful to graceful pedestrians and a more awkward one to the awkward. It was the loveliest hour of a fine day, the clear early evening, with the glow of the sunset in the air and a purple colour in the sea. I always thought that the waters ploughed by the Homeric heroes must have looked like that. I perceived on that particular occasion moreover that Grace Mavis would for the rest of the voyage be the most visible thing on the ship; the figure that would count most in the composition of groups. She couldn"t help it, poor girl; nature had made her conspicuous--important, as the painters say.
She paid for it by the exposure it brought with it--the danger that people would, as I had said to Mrs. Peck, enter into her affairs.
Jasper Nettlepoint went down at certain times to see his mother, and I watched for one of these occasions (on the third day out) and took advantage of it to go and sit by Miss Mavis. She wore a blue veil drawn tightly over her face, so that if the smile with which she greeted me was dim I could account for it partly by that.
"Well, we are getting on--we are getting on," I said, cheerfully, looking at the friendly, twinkling sea.
"Are we going very fast?"
"Not fast, but steadily. _Ohne Hast, ohne Rast_--do you know German?"
"Well, I"ve studied it--some."
"It will be useful to you over there when you travel."
"Well yes, if we do. But I don"t suppose we shall much. Mr. Nettlepoint says we ought," my interlocutress added in a moment.
"Ah, of course _he_ thinks so. He has been all over the world."
"Yes, he has described some of the places. That"s what I should like. I didn"t know I should like it so much."
"Like what so much?"
"Going on this way. I could go on for ever, for ever and ever."
"Ah, you know it"s not always like this," I rejoined.
"Well, it"s better than Boston."
"It isn"t so good as Paris," I said, smiling.
"Oh, I know all about Paris. There is no freshness in that. I feel as if I had been there."
"You mean you have heard so much about it?"
"Oh yes, nothing else for ten years."
I had come to talk with Miss Mavis because she was attractive, but I had been rather conscious of the absence of a good topic, not feeling at liberty to revert to Mr. Porterfield. She had not encouraged me, when I spoke to her as we were leaving Boston, to go on with the history of my acquaintance with this gentleman; and yet now, unexpectedly, she appeared to imply (it was doubtless one of the disparities mentioned by Mrs. Nettlepoint) that he might be glanced at without indelicacy.
"I see, you mean by letters," I remarked.
"I shan"t live in a good part. I know enough to know that," she went on.
"Dear young lady, there are no bad parts," I answered, rea.s.suringly.
"Why, Mr. Nettlepoint says it"s horrid."
"It"s horrid?"
"Up there in the Batignolles. It"s worse than Merrimac Avenue."
"Worse--in what way?"
"Why, even less where the nice people live."