Yet I could not wonder that I was stared at. The mere circumstance of my appearing in a veil heightened me as a mystery in the eyes of the people. Who was I? Nobody knew. I was a woman that had been strangely met with at sea, and found to be without memory, unable to give myself, or my home, or my country a name. And then piquancy was added to the mystery by Sir Frederick Thompson’s discovery that I was a Calthorpe. He might be mistaken, but he might be right also; and to suppose me a Calthorpe, or, in other words, a person of far loftier social claims than anyone could pretend to on board that ship, was to create for me an interest which certainly nobody could have found had it been suspected that I was merely a poor passenger on board the French brig, or the wife of the captain, or the sister of his nephew the waiter. Sir Frederick Thompson sat opposite me. He was for ever directing his eyes at my face, and often he would purse up his mouth into an expression which was the same as saying that the longer he looked the more he was convinced. But my veil kept him off, as I believe it kept others off. People stared, but they seemed to hesitate to accost me through that gossamer screen, which scarcely gave them a sight of my eyes. As Mrs. Webber sat on my side of the table some distance down, she was unable to speak to me, for which I was thankful. From time to time she stretched her neck to catch a view of me, but I was careful not to see her for fear of her obliging me to raise my veil in answer. Some handsome girls were sitting at the bottom of the table near the chief officer; they were showily dressed, and their gowns fitted them exquisitely. One of them I supposed had been Mr. McEwan’s beautiful singer of the preceding evening. They could not see too much of me, I thought. Indeed their eyes were so often upon me that after a little I found myself looking at them eagerly, with a tremulous hope that at some time in our lives we had met, and that they would be able to suggest something to my memory, I whispered this hope to Alice; she glanced at them and said: ‘I fear it is no more than girlish curiosity, together with the idea that you may be a titled lady. Did you hear them ask Mr. McEwan about you just now after he had given you one of his strange, abrupt nods? I am afraid they will not be able to help us.’ ‘Do you observe,’ said Mrs. Lee, on the other side, ‘how the chief officer, Mr. Harris, watches you?’ ‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘Probably he is thinking of our conversation the other night. He may have another idea about my memory to offer.’ ‘He should attend to the navigation of the ship,’ said Mrs. Lee; ‘but, like most sailors, he will be glad to trouble himself about anything else.’ My sweet companion made no lunch. She feigned to eat to please her mother, who frequently projected her head past me to see her. I noticed that every eye which rested upon the beautiful fading girl wore an expression of pity.