"He has called at the office of my last employer, and I am afraid he recognized me. Did he say anything to intimate it?"

"No," I answered. "There is not one chance in a thousand that he remembers you. I never in my life have looked closely enough at a stenographer to know her if we met outside."

"I hope he doesn't," she said, uneasily. "I felt so sure there would be no one here who had ever seen me!"

"His chair is next yours at the table," I remarked. "If he intimates that your face is known to him you have only to convince him that he is mistaken."

"I want that seat changed," she said, earnestly. "Can't you sit between us? I--I can't explain why, but I don't like him. What business had he to offer me his arm?"

I laughed at the serious way she regarded the matter, saying he had only done as any gentleman might, but added that I would certainly put her between myself and Mr. Wesson, if she preferred.

"And who is Mr. Wesson?" she asked.

"My room-mate, that I told you about. He is a splendid fellow."

"Can you see him anywhere at this moment?" she asked, looking around.

"Yes--he is there, talking with the second officer--the man with the white cap. If he comes this way I will present you."

She said there was no need of haste, that she did not wish to meet the pa.s.sengers any more than was absolutely necessary; when we went to the table would be quite time enough.

"Mr. Camwell," she added, after a pause, "you can't imagine how I feel.

If I had dreamed I should experience such sensations I never would have come."

"What sensations?" I asked, rather shortly, for I thought she might consider my feelings a little.

"The sensation of being a deceiver of those about me; the shame of pa.s.sing for what I am not; the dread of somehow being exposed for what I am."

I grew angrier as she proceeded.

"If you were not ill," I said, "I should be out of patience with you.

What awful crime have you committed? You are travelling in a perfectly respectable way, with a respectable party of people; occupying a room with a lady; acting in a rational manner except for these vagaries, which I must ask you to suppress. To be sure the name a.s.signed you on the pa.s.senger list is not your own, but plenty of people travel incognito, even princes and dukes, for that matter. You make a mountain out of a molehill. Your whole journey will be ruined--and mine, if you care anything about that--if you go on as you have begun."

She begged my pardon humbly, saying she would do her best to amend her conduct in the future. And, as usual, the moment she took this att.i.tude, I repented of my hard words and a.s.sured her I had no intention of being too critical.

"The lady who occupies the room with me is very agreeable," was her next observation. "She offered to do anything she could to relieve my head last night, and this morning she bathed it with cologne for half an hour."

"She sits opposite us at the table," I said. "With her uncle."

"I am glad of that. I feel quite acquainted with her now."

Then she a.s.sayed a question of the sort that eminate from women.

"Don't you think her very handsome?"

"She's not bad looking," I admitted.

"I call her magnificent. Such a face and form do not often go together."

I wanted to reply, "So she said in her advertis.e.m.e.nt," but I merely nodded.

"There is another woman on this boat that I would not exchange for a thousand of her," I said, presently, in a low voice.

"Point her out to me," said Miss May. "I would like to know what your ideal is."

"Look in your mirror," I responded.

"Why do you think it necessary," she asked, frowning, "to pay me that kind of compliment?"

"I think it necessary to refrain from doing so, but sometimes I grow forgetful."

She saw that I was very sober again.

"If you meant what you say, it would not be so wicked," she replied, gently.

"You know very well that I mean it."

"Mr. Camwell," she said, leaning very close to me, "we are obliged to lie to outsiders, in the contract we have a.s.sumed. Let us always tell the truth to each other."

"If I told you the truth," I responded, gloomily, "you would not sit where you are. You would find strength to walk down those stairs and back to your room alone."

She grew slightly paler, though her cheeks were waxen enough before.

"Then do not tell it to me just now," she replied, with an attempt at a laugh. "I would rather remain on deck where the air is purer."

When the lunch bell rang I advised Miss May to take her repast where she was, promising to send a steward to her with a bill of fare. It pleased me to learn when I came back that she had made quite a meal and was feeling considerably better.

The succeeding two days contained nothing of high importance, but there were several little things that deserve to be chronicled.

The first time Marjorie came to the table and was introduced by me to the others as "Miss Carney," I fancied that a smile rested lightly on the features of Miss Howes, for which I could not account. Marjorie was seated between Mr. Wesson and me, and I saw with pleasure that they seemed likely to be good friends. It was desirable in the interest of our general plan that she and I should not act as if there was no one else in the world. Stone and his wife were quiet people, who rarely spoke unless first addressed. Edgerly was good-natured but not obtrusive. The most of the talk, therefore, at table, came from Mr. and Miss Howes, Wesson and myself. We got to be at last a rather jolly party.

Carrying out my plan, now that Miss May had apparently recovered from her indisposition, I left her alone a good deal, or rather with one or more of the others as her companion on deck. They aroused in her an interest in the trip, for which I was glad. Edgerly probably talked with her the least of all, and she told me he never mentioned having seen her before. Miss Howes was her most constant companion, quite naturally, when it is considered that they roomed in one cabin.

But on the third day out, just before dinner time, Miss May came to me with a distressed face that showed unusual perturbation. She was actually trembling and her eyes looked as if she had been weeping.

"A terrible thing has happened!" she said, when I followed her to a place where no one could overhear us. "I would not tell you if I could help it, but you will have to know." Then, in response to my inquiring look, she added, "Some one has entered my stateroom and robbed me!"

As far as she could learn, nothing had been taken but her turquoise ring, but the feeling that her effects were unsafe agitated her greatly.

In response to questions she said she had left the ring on a little rack above the washbowl, when she washed her hands for lunch, as she had done twice before. She was absolutely certain where she put it, but had made a thorough search of her handbag, the only other place it could have been.

I told her not to get excited, but to ask the stewardess, whom I would send to her when she went down again, if she had seen it. I remarked, also, that I believed a theft on that line under such conditions was of extremely rare occurrence, and that she had best quiet her nerves until an investigation could be made.

"But it was your ring--it really belonged to you--" she stammered, "and I feel ever so much worse than if it were my own."

"That is mere casuistry," I replied, "but, if it pleases you to call all your things mine, of course, you will continue doing so. Whosever it is, we must do our best to recover it."

At dinner Miss May whispered to me that the stewardess had made a diligent search, but without effect. The meal pa.s.sed rather dully. Miss May was pale and distraught. I sympathized with her, though the value of the lost article was not great. I wished I had some of the intuition of a Monsieur Lecoq that I might place the offence on the right person and relieve the strain I could not help feeling.