"I hope he doesn't," she said, uneasily. "I felt so sure there would be no one here who had ever seen me!" "His chair is next yours at the table," I remarked. "If he intimates that your face is known to him you have only to convince him that he is mistaken." "I want that seat changed," she said, earnestly. "Can't you sit between us? I--I can't explain why, but I don't like him. What business had he to offer me his arm?" I laughed at the serious way she regarded the matter, saying he had only done as any gentleman might, but added that I would certainly put her between myself and Mr. Wesson, if she preferred. "And who is Mr. Wesson?" she asked. "My room-mate, that I told you about. He is a splendid fellow." "Can you see him anywhere at this moment?" she asked, looking around. "Yes--he is there, talking with the second officer--the man with the white cap. If he comes this way I will present you." She said there was no need of haste, that she did not wish to meet the passengers any more than was absolutely necessary; when we went to the table would be quite time enough. "Mr. Camwell," she added, after a pause, "you can't imagine how I feel. If I had dreamed I should experience such sensations I never would have come." "What sensations?" I asked, rather shortly, for I thought she might consider my feelings a little. "The sensation of being a deceiver of those about me; the shame of passing for what I am not; the dread of somehow being exposed for what I am." I grew angrier as she proceeded. "If you were not ill," I said, "I should be out of patience with you. What awful crime have you committed? You are travelling in a perfectly respectable way, with a respectable party of people; occupying a room with a lady; acting in a rational manner except for these vagaries, which I must ask you to suppress. To be sure the name assigned you on the passenger list is not your own, but plenty of people travel incognito, even princes and dukes, for that matter. You make a mountain out of a molehill. Your whole journey will be ruined--and mine, if you care anything about that--if you go on as you have begun." She begged my pardon humbly, saying she would do her best to amend her conduct in the future. And, as usual, the moment she took this attitude, I repented of my hard words and assured her I had no intention of being too critical. "The lady who occupies the room with me is very agreeable," was her next observation. "She offered to do anything she could to relieve my head last night, and this morning she bathed it with cologne for half an hour." "She sits opposite us at the table," I said. "With her uncle." "I am glad of that. I feel quite acquainted with her now." Then she assayed a question of the sort that eminate from women. "Don't you think her very handsome?" "She's not bad looking," I admitted. "I call her magnificent. Such a face and form do not often go together."