I have sufficiently betrayed that I deemed Grace Mavis a singular girl, but I was far from judging her capable of laying a trap for our young companion. Moreover my reading of Jasper was not in the least that he was catchable--could be made to do a thing if he didn't want to do it. Of course it was not impossible that he might be inclined, that he might take it (or already have taken it) into his head to marry Miss Mavis; but to believe this I should require still more proof than his always being with her. He wanted at most to marry her for the voyage. 'If you have questioned him perhaps you have tried to make him feel responsible,' I said to his mother. 'A little, but it's very difficult. Interference makes him perverse. One has to go gently. Besides, it's too absurd--think of her age. If she can't take care of herself!' cried Mrs. Nettlepoint. 'Yes, let us keep thinking of her age, though it's not so prodigious. And if things get very bad you have one resource left,' I added. 'What is that?' 'You can go upstairs.' 'Ah, never, never! If it takes that to save her she must be lost. Besides, what good would it do? If I were to go up she could come down here.' 'Yes, but you could keep Jasper with you.' 'Could I?' Mrs. Nettlepoint demanded, in the manner of a woman who knew her son. In the saloon the next day, after dinner, over the red cloth of the tables, beneath the swinging lamps and the racks of tumblers, decanters and wine-glasses, we sat down to whist, Mrs. Peck, among others, taking a hand in the game. She played very badly and talked too much, and when the rubber was over assuaged her discomfiture (though not mine--we had been partners) with a Welsh rabbit and a tumbler of something hot. We had done with the cards, but while she waited for this refreshment she sat with her elbows on the table shuffling a pack. 'She hasn't spoken to me yet--she won't do it,' she remarked in a moment. 'Is it possible there is any one on the ship who hasn't spoken to you?' 'Not that girl--she knows too well!' Mrs. Peck looked round our little circle with a smile of intelligence--she had familiar, communicative eyes. Several of our company had assembled, according to the wont, the last thing in the evening, of those who are cheerful at sea, for the consumption of grilled sardines and devilled bones. 'What then does she know?' 'Oh, she knows that I know.' 'Well, we know what Mrs. Peck knows,' one of the ladies of the group observed to me, with an air of privilege. 'Well, you wouldn't know if I hadn't told you--from the way she acts,' said Mrs. Peck, with a small laugh. 'She is going out to a gentleman who lives over there--he's waiting there to marry her,' the other lady went on, in the tone of authentic information. I remember that her name was Mrs. Gotch and that her mouth looked always as if she were whistling. 'Oh, he knows--I've told him,' said Mrs. Peck. 'Well, I presume every one knows,' Mrs. Gotch reflected.