And always the devastation of that sentence was great. It was a street-woman’s inside familiarity, _Brandt’s_ being one of her rounds; as she might speak of the beer at _Holbeck’s_ or the chops at _Sharpe’s_. Yet Bessie was not greedy, and had no taste for wine. It was the glibness, the town mannerism, and the low, easy level which her acceptance of the common saying revealed; the life which she was willing to make her own, at least exteriorly. But after all, in the better moments, it seemed very silly to deny a great soul to the girl who could sing as Bessie sang. Some day she would feel her soul.... The preacher, third passenger on board the _Jade_, reported that the Faraway woman was returning to her home in New Zealand. Fleury didn’t know if her baby was boy or girl, but judged that it was very healthy, since it cried so little. Fleury wasn’t promising to Bellair’s eyes. First of all it was the cloth; and then during the first three weeks at sea, Bellair spent innumerable hours in the periphery of the great cane-chair. He did not resist his prejudice. “A missionary going out with the usual effrontery,” he decided. The preacher’s face appeared placid and boyish.... Fleury, however, continued to observe cheerful good-mornings, to praise the fine weather, and to offer opportunities for better acquaintance--all without being obtrusive in the least. Hayti and Santo Domingo--names once remote and romantic to the city man’s mind--were now vanished shores, and as yet the voyage was but well begun.... The three passengers were served together in the cabin, except in cases when the Stackhouse narrative happened to be running particularly well. Bellair would then be called to dine with the owner. Captain McArliss would appear at this mess and disappear--the courses being brought to him one after another in a certain rapid form. The Captain seemed so conscious, that Bellair never quite dared to observe what happened to the food, but he was certain that McArliss did not bolt. His suspicion was that he tasted or sipped as the case might be, merely spoiling the offering. He was gone before Stackhouse was really started. It was less what the giant ate, than the excessive formality and importance of his table sessions that prevailed upon the American. Dinner was the chief doing of the day. Bellair had never complained, even in thought, of the food served to him in the usual mess, but with Stackhouse everything was extra fine from the Chinese standpoint--all delicacies and turns of the art, all choice cuttings and garnishments, a most careful consideration of wines--so that from the first audible delectation of the contents of the silver tureen, to the choice of a cigar (invariably after a few deep inhalations from a cigarette “made in Acca by the brisoners”), there was formality and deep responsibility upon the ship; and a freedom afterward through the galleys that was pleasant to regard.