But that only half cheered me, because I had been but a day out of Boston when I realized that Mrs. Hamilton is like a lot of people who talk a good deal. She is a good _promiser_, and she promises so much that she can’t do a third of all she intends to. Really the only thing she did do that she had forecast doing, was getting seasick, and she, herself, didn’t entirely cause that. A couple of days of rough weather helped her. However, to go back, I blamed her unjustly this time, for while I was idling around the deck after dinner, wishing that I had nothing on my mind to keep me from enjoying the salt tang in the air, and the pretty phosphorescent, silver lights that gleam in the water where the prow of the boat cuts it, she came toward me, and said she had found some one who would help me reach Florence safely. “A Mr. Terrance Wake,” she said, “probably you’ve never heard of him, but he is rather noted. . . . Writes on art, all that sort of thing, and has a perfect love of a villa near Florence. . . . He says he’ll he delighted to be of any service to you--” “Well, if he’ll just let me follow him, it’ll be all right,” I answered, and Mrs. Hamilton laughed. “Funny child,” she said, and then, “I must go in; I was dummy. . . . I’ll present Mr. Wake in the morning--” After that she vanished in one of the bright-lit doorways from which came the energetic voices of people who were fondly telling each other that they had played the wrong card, and again I was alone. I felt better and I could breathe with more ease. Before she came I had felt as if my lungs were a size too small for my breath. Being anxious always makes me feel that way. And I walked--around the deck I had learned so well--speaking to people as I passed them, exchanging plans, and promising to send postcards. I was awake when Mrs. Hamilton came down to go to bed, which was unusual for me, for insomnia is not one of my troubles, and I sat up in the berth to talk. “What’s Mr. Wake like?” I asked, as I leaned out and looked down. “_Fascinating_ man,” she responded, “but fearfully indifferent!” “Does he smoke?” I asked, for I had begun to get anxious again, and I had actually supposed up a bad awake-dream that had to do with his going off to smoke, and the train being broken up, and my being left in a strange country with nothing to help me but a remark about the moon. “I don’t know, Jane,” Mrs. Hamilton answered, with an easy little laugh. Then she added the “Funny child!” she says at me so often, and I lay back and stared up at the ceiling again. “You won’t forget to introduce us, will you?” I asked, as she switched off the lights. “Yo hum,” she yawned, deeply. “No, dear, certainly _not_! Now go to sleep, for you’ll have lots that’s new to see to-morrow. . . . ’Night.”