“The habit of years?” he said. “Why, you speak as if you were an old woman.” “I _am_ an old woman,” replied the girl, “in everything but one particular.” “And that particular,” said her companion, “is the very important one, I imagine, of years.” “I don’t know why that is so very important.” “Oh, you will think so in after life, I assure you. I speak as a veteran myself.” The young lady gave him a quick side glance with her black eyes from under the hood that almost concealed her face. “You say you are a veteran,” she answered, “but you don’t think so. It would offend you very deeply to be called old.” “Oh, I don’t know about that. I think such a remark is offensive only when there is truth in it. A young fellow slaps his companion on the shoulder and calls him ‘old man.’ The grey-haired veteran always addresses his elderly friend as ‘my boy.’” “Under which category do you think you come, then?” “Well, I don’t come under either exactly. I am sort of on the middle ground. I sometimes feel very old. In fact, to confess to you, I never felt older in my life than I did yesterday. Today I am a great deal younger.” “Dear me,” replied the young lady, “I am sorry to hear that.” “Sorry!” echoed her companion; “I don’t see why you should be sorry. It is said that every one rejoices in the misfortunes of others, but it is rather unusual to hear them admit it.” “It is because of my sympathy for others that I am sorry to hear you are younger today than you were yesterday. If you take to running along the deck today then the results will be disastrous and I think you owe it to your fellow passengers to send the steward with his gong ahead of you so as to give people in steamer chairs warning.” “Miss Earle,” said the young man, “I thought you had forgiven me for yesterday. I am sure I apologised very humbly, and am willing to apologise again to-day.” “Did I forgive you? I had forgotten?” “But you remembered the fault. I am afraid that is misplaced forgetfulness. The truth is, I imagine, you are very unforgiving.” “My friends do not think so.” “Then I suppose you rank me among your enemies?” “You forget that I have known you for a day only.” “That is true, chronologically speaking. But you must remember a day on shipboard is very much longer than a day on shore. In fact, I look on you now as an old acquaintance, and I should be sorry to think you looked on me as an enemy.” “You are mistaken. I do not. I look on you now as you do on your own age—sort of between the two.” “And which way do you think I shall drift? Towards the enemy line, or towards the line of friendship?” “I am sure I cannot tell.” “Well, Miss Earle, I am going to use my best endeavours to reach the friendship line, which I shall make unless the current is too strong for me. I hope you are not so prejudiced against me that the pleasant effort will be fruitless.”