I felt that she was perfectly cool, while I was a little confused, and ashamed too, that I had attempted to be playfully satirical. And so, wondering what I should say next, I remarked in desperation: “Do you like the sea?” “I am never ill at sea,” was her reply. “But I do not really like it; it is treacherous. The land would satisfy me if--” She paused. “Yes, Mrs. Falchion--‘if’?” “If I did not wish to travel,” she vaguely added, looking blandly at me. “You have travelled much?” I ventured. “A great deal;” and again I saw that scrutiny in her eyes. It occurred to me at the moment that she might think I possessed some previous knowledge of her. My mind became occupied again with the Intermediate Passenger and the portrait that he wore at his neck. I almost laughed to think of the melodramatic turn which my first conversation with this woman might chance to take. I felt that I was dealing with one who was able to meet cleverly any advance of mine, but I determined to lead the talk into as deep waters as possible. “I suppose, too, you are a good practical sailor--that is, you understand seamanship, if you have travelled much?” I do not know why I said that, for it sounded foolish to me afterwards. “Pretty well,” she replied. “I can manage a sail; I know the argot, I could tell the shrouds from the bulwarks, and I’ve rowed a boat in a choppy sea.” “It is not an accomplishment usual to your sex.” “It was ordinary enough where I spent the early part of my life,” was the idle reply; and she settled herself more comfortably in her chair. “Yes? May I ask where that was?” and as I said this, it occurred to me that she was, perhaps, leading me on, instead of my leading her; to betray me as to anything I knew about her. “In the South Seas,” she replied. “My father was a British consul in the Islands.” “You have not come from the Islands now, I suppose?” “No,” she said a little more softly; “it is years since I was in Samoa. ... My father is buried there.” “You must have found it a romantic life in those half-barbaric places?” She shifted in her chair. “Romantic!” Her tone conveyed a very slight uneasiness and vagueness. “I am afraid you must ask some one else about that sort of thing. I did not see much romance, but I saw plenty that was half-barbaric.” Here she laughed slightly. Just then I saw the lights of a vessel far off. “See--a vessel!” I said; and I watched the lights in silence, but thinking. I saw that she too was watching idly. At length, as if continuing the conversation, I said: “Yes, I suppose life must be somewhat adventurous and dangerous among savage people like the Samoans, Tongans, and Fijians?” “Indeed, then,” she replied decisively, “you are not to suppose anything of the kind. The danger is not alone for the white people.”