This was almost genial, and it cheered me proportionately. “It’s a pity our ship’s not one of the fast ones, if you’re impatient.” She was silent a little after which she brought out: “Oh I guess it’ll be fast enough!” That evening I went in to see Mrs. Nettlepoint and sat on her sea-trunk, which was pulled out from under the berth to accommodate me. It was nine o’clock but not quite dark, as our northward course had already taken us into the latitude of the longer days. She had made her nest admirably and now rested from her labours; she lay upon her sofa in a dressing-gown and a cap that became her. It was her regular practice to spend the voyage in her cabin, which smelt positively good—such was the refinement of her art; and she had a secret peculiar to herself for keeping her port open without shipping seas. She hated what she called the mess of the ship and the idea, if she should go above, of meeting stewards with plates of supererogatory food. She professed to be content with her situation—we promised to lend each other books and I assured her familiarly that I should be in and out of her room a dozen times a day—pitying me for having to mingle in society. She judged this a limited privilege, for on the deck before we left the wharf she had taken a view of our fellow-passengers. “Oh I’m an inveterate, almost a professional observer,” I replied, “and with that vice I’m as well occupied as an old woman in the sun with her knitting. It makes me, in any situation, just inordinately and submissively _see_ things. I shall see them even here and shall come down very often and tell you about them. You’re not interested today, but you will be tomorrow, for a ship’s a great school of gossip. You won’t believe the number of researches and problems you’ll be engaged in by the middle of the voyage.” “I? Never in the world!—lying here with my nose in a book and not caring a straw.” “You’ll participate at second hand. You’ll see through my eyes, hang upon my lips, take sides, feel passions, all sorts of sympathies and indignations. I’ve an idea,” I further developed, “that your young lady’s the person on board who will interest me most.” “‘Mine’ indeed! She hasn’t been near me since we left the dock.” “There you are—you do feel she owes you something. Well,” I added, “she’s very curious.” “You’ve such cold-blooded terms!” Mrs. Nettlepoint wailed. “Elle ne sait pas se conduire; she ought to have come to ask about me.” “Yes, since you’re under her care,” I laughed. “As for her not knowing how to behave—well, that’s exactly what we shall see.” “You will, but not I! I wash my hands of her.” “Don’t say that—don’t say that.” Mrs. Nettlepoint looked at me a moment. “Why do you speak so solemnly?” In return I considered her. “I’ll tell you before we land. And have you seen much of your son?” “Oh yes, he has come in several times. He seems very much pleased. He has got a cabin to himself.”