by Robert Barr
"I know no ladies on board," she said, "and I think I have met you before."
"Yes," answered Miss Earle, "I think we have met before."
"How good of you to have remembered me," said Blanche, kindly.
"I think," replied Miss Earle, "that it is more remarkable that you should remember me than that I should remember you. Ladies very rarely notice the shop-girls who wait upon them."
"You seemed so superior to your station," said Blanche, "that I could not help remembering you, and could not help thinking what a pity it was you had to be there."
"I do not think that there is anything either superior or inferior about the station. It is quite as honourable, or dishonourable, which ever it may be, as any other branch of business. I cannot see, for instance, why my station, selling ribbons at retail, should be any more dishonourable than the station of the head of the firm, who merely does on a very large scale what I was trying to do for him on a very limited scale."
"Still," said Blanche, with a yawn, "people do not all look upon it in exactly that light."
"Hardly any two persons look on any one thing in the same light. I hope you have enjoyed your voyage so far?"
"I have not enjoyed it very much," replied the young lady with a sigh.
"I am sorry to hear that. I presume your father has been ill most of the way?"
"My father?" cried the other, looking at her questioner.
"Yes, I did not see him at the table since the first day."
"Oh, he has had to keep his room almost since we left. He is a very poor sailor."
"Then that must make your voyage rather unpleasant?"
The blonde young lady made no reply, but, taking up the book which Miss Earle was reading, said, "You don't find Mr. Morris much of a reader, I presume? He used not to be."
"I know very little about Mr. Morris," said Miss Earle, freezingly.
"Why, you knew him before you came on board, did you not?" questioned the other, raising her eyebrows.
"No, I did not."
"You certainly know he is junior partner in the establishment where you work?"
"I know that, yes, but I had never spoken to him before I met him on board this steamer."
"Is that possible? Might I ask you if there is any probability of your becoming interested in Mr. Morris?"
"Interested! What do you mean?"
"Oh, you know well enough what I mean. We girls do not need to be humbugs with each other, whatever we may be before the men. When a young woman meets a young man in the early morning, and has coffee with him, and when she reads to him, and tries to cultivate his literary tastes, whatever they may be, she certainly shows some interest in the young man, don't you think so?"
Miss Earle looked for a moment indignantly at her questioner. "I do not recognise your right," she said, "to ask me such a question."
"No? Then let me tell you that I have every right to ask it. I assure you that I have thought over the matter deeply before I spoke. It seemed to me there was one chance in a thousand - only one chance in a thousand, remember - that you were acting honestly, and on that one chance I took the liberty of speaking to you. The right I have to ask such a question is this - Mr. George Morris has been engaged to me for several years."
"Engaged to you?"
"Yes. If you don't believe it, ask him."
"It is the very last question in the world I would ask anybody."
"Well, then, you will have to take my word for it. I hope you are not very shocked, Miss Earle, to hear what I have had to tell you."
"Shocked? Oh dear, no. Why should I be? It is really a matter of no interest to me, I assure you."
"Well, I am very glad to hear you say so. I did not know but you might have become more interested in Mr. Morris than you would care to own. I think myself that he is quite a fascinating young gentleman; but I thought it only just to you that you should know exactly how matters stood."
"I am sure I am very much obliged to you."
This much of the conversation Miss Earle had thought over in her own room that morning. "Did it make a difference to her or not?" that was the question she was asking herself. The information had certainly affected her opinion of Mr. Morris, and she smiled to herself rather bitterly as she thought of his claiming to be so exceedingly truthful. Miss Earle did not, however, go up on deck until the breakfast gong had rung.
"Good morning," said Morris, as he took his place at the little table. "I was like the boy on the burning deck this morning, when all but he had fled. I was very much disappointed that you did not come up, and have your usual cup of coffee."
"I am sorry to hear that," said Miss Earle; "if I had known I was disappointing anybody I should have been here."
"Miss Katherine," he said, "you are a humbug. You knew very well that I would be disappointed if you did not come."
The young lady looked up at him, and for a moment she thought of telling him that her name was Miss Earle, but for some reason she did not do so.
"I want you to promise now," he continued, "that to-morrow morning you will be on deck as usual."
"Has it become a usual thing, then?"
"Well, that's what I am trying to make it," he answered. "Will you promise?"
"Yes, I promise."
"Very well, then, I look on that as settled. Now, about to-day. What are you going to do with yourself after breakfast?"
"Oh, the usual thing, I suppose. I shall sit in my steamer chair and read an interesting book."
"And what is the interesting book for to-day?"
"It is a little volume by Henry James, entitled The Siege of London."
"Why, I never knew that London had been besieged. When did that happen?"
"Well, I haven't got very far in the book yet, but it seems to have happened quite recently, within a year or two, I think. It is one of the latest of Mr. James's short stories. I have not read it yet."
"Ah, then the siege is not historical?"
"Not historical further than Mr. James is the historian."
"Now, Miss Earle, are you good at reading out loud?"
"No, I am not."
"Why, how decisively you say that. I couldn't answer like that, because I don't know whether I am or not. I have never tried any of it. But if you will allow me, I will read that book out to you. I should like to have the good points indicated to me, and also the defects."
"There are not likely to be many defects," said the young lady. "Mr. James is a very correct writer. But I do not care either to read aloud or have a book read to me. Besides, we disturb the conversation or the reading of any one else who happens to sit near us. I prefer to enjoy a book by reading it myself."
"Ah, I see you are resolved cruelly to shut me out of all participation in your enjoyment."
"Oh, not at all. I shall be very happy to discuss the book with you afterwards. You should read it for yourself. Then, when you have done so, we might have a talk on its merits or demerits, if you think, after you have read it, that it has any."
"Any what? merits or demerits?"
"Well, any either."
"No; I will tell you a better plan than that. I am not going to waste my time reading it."
"Waste, indeed!"
"Certainly waste. Not when I have a much better plan of finding out what is in the book. I am going to get you to tell me the story after you have read it."
"Oh, indeed, and suppose I refuse?"
"Will you?"
"Well, I don't know. I only said suppose."
"Then I shall spend the rest of the voyage trying to persuade you."
"I am not very easily persuaded, Mr. Morris."
"I believe that," said the young man. "I presume I may sit beside you while you are reading your book?"
"You certainly may, if you wish to. The deck is not mine, only that portion of it, I suppose, which I occupy with the steamer chair. I have no authority over any of the rest."
"Now, is that a refusal or an acceptance?"
; "It is which ever you choose to think."
"Well, if it is a refusal, it is probably softening down the No, but if it is an acceptance it is rather an ungracious one, it seems to me."
"Well, then, I shall be frank with you. I am very much interested in this book. I should a great deal rather read it than talk to you."
"Oh, thank you, Miss Earle. There can be no possible doubt about your meaning now."
"Well, I am glad of that, Mr. Morris. I am always pleased to think that I can speak in such a way as not to be misunderstood."
"I don't see any possible way of misunderstanding that. I wish I did."
"And then, after lunch," said the young lady, "I think I shall finish the book before that time; - if you care to sit beside me or to walk the deck with me, I shall be very glad to tell you the story."
"Now, that is perfectly delightful," cried the young man. "You throw a person down into the depths, so that he will appreciate all the more being brought up into the light again."
"Oh, not at all. I have no such dramatic ideas in speaking frankly with you. I merely mean that this forenoon I wish to have to myself, because I am interested in my book. At the end of the forenoon I shall probably be tired of my book and will prefer a talk with you. I don't see why you should think it odd that a person should say exactly what a person means."
"And then I suppose in the evening you will be tired of talking with me, and will want to take up your book again."
"Possibly."
"And if you are, you won't hesitate a moment about saying so?"
"Certainly not."
"Well, you are a decidedly frank young lady, Miss Earle; and, after all, I don't know but what I like that sort of thing best. I think if all the world were honest we would all have a better time of it here."
"Do you really think so?"
"Yes, I do."
"You believe in honesty, then?"
"Why, certainly. Have you seen anything in my conduct or bearing that would induce you to think that I did not believe in honesty?"
"No, I can't say I have. Still, honesty is such a rare quality that a person naturally is surprised when one comes unexpectedly upon it."
George Morris found the forenoon rather tedious and lonesome. He sat in the smoking room, and once or twice he ventured near where Miss Earle sat engrossed in her book, in the hope that the volume might have been put aside for the time, and that he would have some excuse for sitting down and talking with her. Once as he passed she looked up with a bright smile and nodded to him.
"Nearly through?" he asked dolefully.
"Of The Siege of London?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Oh, I am through that long ago, and have begun another story."
"Now, that is not according to contract," claimed Morris. "The contract was that when you got through with The Siege of London you were to let me talk with you, and that you were to tell me the story."
"That was not my interpretation of it. Our bargain, as I understood it, was that I was to have this forenoon to myself, and that I was to use the forenoon for reading. I believe my engagement with you began in the afternoon."
"I wish it did," said the young man, with a wistful look.
"You wish what?" she said, glancing up at him sharply.
He blushed as he bent over towards her and whispered, "That our engagement, Miss Katherine, began in the afternoon."
The colour mounted rapidly into her cheeks, and for a moment George Morris thought he had gone too far. It seemed as if a sharp reply was ready on her lips; but, as on another occasion, she checked it and said nothing. Then she opened her book and began to read. He waited for a moment and said -
"Miss Earle, have I offended you?"
"Did you mean to give offence?" she asked.
"No, certainly, I did not."
"Then why should you think you had offended me?"
"Well, I don't know, I - " he stammered.
Miss Earle looked at him with such clear, innocent, and unwavering eyes that the young man felt that he could neither apologise nor make an explanation.
"I'm afraid," he said, "that I am encroaching on your time."
"Yes, I think you are: that is, if you intend to live up to your contract, and let me live up to mine. You have no idea how much more interesting this book is than you are."
"Why, you are not a bit flattering, Miss Earle, are you?"
"No, I don't think I am. Do you try to be?"
"I'm afraid that in my lifetime I have tried to be, but I assure you, Miss Earle, that I don't try to be flattering, or try to be anything but what I really am when I am in your company. To tell the truth, I am too much afraid of you."
Miss Earle smiled and went on with her reading, while Morris went once more back into the smoking-room.
"Now then," said George Morris, when lunch was over, "which is it to be? The luxurious languor of the steamer chair or the energetic exercise of the deck? Take your choice."
"Well," answered the young lady, "as I have been enjoying the luxurious languor all the forenoon, I prefer the energetic exercise, if it is agreeable to you, for a while, at least."
"It is very agreeable to me. I am all energy this afternoon. In fact, now that you have consented to allow me to talk with you, I feel as if I were imbued with a new life."
"Dear me," said she, "and all because of the privilege of talking to me?"
"All."
"How nice that is. You are sure that it is not the effect of the sea air?"
"Quite certain. I had the sea air this forenoon, you know."
"Oh, yes, I had forgotten that."
"Well, which side of the deck then?"
"Oh, which ever is the least popular side. I dislike a crowd."
"I think, Miss Earle, that we will have this side pretty much to ourselves. The madd'ing crowd seems to have a preference for the sunny part of the ship. Now, then, for the siege of London. Who besieged it?"
"A lady."
"Did she succeed?"
"She did."
"Well, I am very glad to hear it, indeed. What was she besieging it for?"
"For social position, I presume.
"Then, as we say out West, I suppose she had a pretty hard row to hoe?"
"Yes, she had."
"Well, I never can get at the story by cross-questioning. Now, supposing that you tell it to me."
"I think that you had better take the book and read it. I am not a good story-teller."
"Why, I thought we Americans were considered excellent story-tellers.'
"We Americans?"
"Oh, I remember now, you do not lay claim to being an American. You are English, I think you said?"
"I said nothing of the kind. I merely said I lay no claims to being an American."
"Yes, that was it."
"Well, you will be pleased to know that this lady in the siege of London was an American. You seem so anxious to establish a person's nationality that I am glad to be able to tell you at the very first that she was an American, and, what is more, seemed to be a Western American."
"Seemed? Oh, there we get into uncertainties again. If I like to know whether persons are Americans or not, it naturally follows that I am anxious to know whether they were Western or Eastern Americans. Aren't you sure she was a Westerner?"
"The story, unfortunately, leaves that a little vague, so if it displeases you I shall be glad to stop the telling of it."
"Oh no, don't do that. I am quite satisfied to take her as an American citizen; whether she is East or West, or North or South, does not make the slightest difference to me. Please go on with the story."
"Well, the other characters, I am happy to be able to say, are not at all indefinite in the matter of nationality. One is an Englishman; he is even more than that, he is an English nobleman. The other is an American. Then there is the English nobleman's mother, who, of course, is an English woman; and the American's sister, married to an Englishman, and she, of course, is English-American.
Does that satisfy you?"
"Perfectly. Go on."
"It seems that the besieger, the heroine of the story if you may call her so, had a past."
"Has not everybody had a past?"
"Oh no. This past is known to the American and is unknown to the English nobleman."
"Ah, I see; and the American is in love with her in spite of her past?"
"Not in Mr. James's story."
"Oh, I beg pardon. Well, go on; I shall not interrupt again."
"It is the English nobleman who is in love with her in spite of his absence of knowledge about her past. The English nobleman's mother is very much against the match. She tries to get the American to tell what the past of this woman is. The American refuses to do so. In fact, in Paris he has half promised the besieger not to say anything about her past. She is besieging London, and she wishes the American to remain neutral. But the nobleman's mother at last gets the American to promise that he will tell her son what he knows of this woman's past. The American informs the woman what he has promised the nobleman's mother to do, and at this moment the nobleman enters the room. The besieger of London, feeling that her game is up, leaves them together. The American says to the nobleman, who stands rather stiffly before him, 'If you wish to ask me any questions regarding the lady who has gone out I shall be happy to tell you.' Those are not the words of the book, but they are in substance what he said. The nobleman looked at him for a moment with that hauteur which, we presume, belongs to noblemen, and said quietly, 'I wish to know nothing.' Now, that strikes me as a very dramatic point in the story."
"But didn't he wish to know anything of the woman whom he was going to marry?"
"I presume that, naturally, he did."
"And yet he did not take the opportunity of finding out when he had the chance?"
"No, he did not."
"Well, what do you think of that?"
"What do I think of it? I think it's a very dramatic point in the story."
"Yes, but what do you think of his wisdom in refusing to find out what sort of a woman he was going to marry? Was he a fool or was he a very noble man?"
"Why, I thought I said at the first that he was a nobleman, an Englishman."