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Jasper Nettlepoint went down at certain times to see his mother, and I watched for one of these occasions (on the third day out) and took advantage of it to go and sit by Miss Mavis. She wore a blue veil drawn tightly over her face, so that if the smile with which she greeted me was dim I could account for it partly by that.

‘Well, we are getting on–we are getting on,’ I said, cheerfully, looking at the friendly, twinkling sea.

‘Are we going very fast?’

‘Not fast, but steadily. Ohne Hast, ohne Rast–do you know German?’

‘Well, I’ve studied it–some.’

‘It will be useful to you over there when you travel.’

‘Well yes, if we do. But I don’t suppose we shall much. Mr. Nettlepoint says we ought,’ my interlocutress added in a moment.

‘Ah, of course he thinks so. He has been all over the world.’

‘Yes, he has described some of the places. That’s what I should like. I didn’t know I should like it so much.’

‘Like what so much?’

‘Going on this way. I could go on for ever, for ever and ever.’

‘Ah, you know it’s not always like this,’ I rejoined.

‘Well, it’s better than Boston.’

‘It isn’t so good as Paris,’ I said, smiling.

‘Oh, I know all about Paris. There is no freshness in that. I feel as if I had been there.’

‘You mean you have heard so much about it?’

‘Oh yes, nothing else for ten years.’

I had come to talk with Miss Mavis because she was attractive, but I had been rather conscious of the absence of a good topic, not feeling at liberty to revert to Mr. Porterfield. She had not encouraged me, when I spoke to her as we were leaving Boston, to go on with the history of my acquaintance with this gentleman; and yet now, unexpectedly, she appeared to imply (it was doubtless one of the disparities mentioned by Mrs. Nettlepoint) that he might be glanced at without indelicacy.

‘I see, you mean by letters,’ I remarked.

‘I shan’t live in a good part. I know enough to know that,’ she went on.

‘Dear young lady, there are no bad parts,’ I answered, reassuringly.

‘Why, Mr. Nettlepoint says it’s horrid.’

‘It’s horrid?’

‘Up there in the Batignolles. It’s worse than Merrimac Avenue.’

‘Worse–in what way?’

‘Why, even less where the nice people live.’

‘He oughtn’t to say that,’ I returned. ‘Don’t you call Mr. Porterfield a nice person?’ I ventured to subjoin.

‘Oh, it doesn’t make any difference.’ She rested her eyes on me a moment through her veil, the texture of which gave them a suffused prettiness. ‘Do you know him very well?’ she asked.

‘Mr. Porterfield?’

‘No, Mr. Nettlepoint.’

‘Ah, very little. He’s a good deal younger than I.’

She was silent a moment; after which she said: ‘He’s younger than me, too.’ I know not what drollery there was in this but it was unexpected and it made me laugh. Neither do I know whether Miss Mavis took offence at my laughter, though I remember thinking at the moment with compunction that it had brought a certain colour to her cheek. At all events she got up, gathering her shawl and her books into her arm. ‘I’m going down–I’m tired.’

‘Tired of me, I’m afraid.’

‘No, not yet.’

‘I’m like you,’ I pursued. ‘I should like it to go on and on.’

She had begun to walk along the deck to the companion-way and I went with her. ‘Oh, no, I shouldn’t, after all!’

I had taken her shawl from her to carry it, but at the top of the steps that led down to the cabins I had to give it back. ‘Your mother would be glad if she could know,’ I observed as we parted.

‘If she could know?’

‘How well you are getting on. And that good Mrs. Allen.’

‘Oh, mother, mother! She made me come, she pushed me off.’ And almost as if not to say more she went quickly below.

I paid Mrs. Nettlepoint a morning visit after luncheon and another in the evening, before she ‘turned in.’ That same day, in the evening, she said to me suddenly, ‘Do you know what I have done? I have asked Jasper.’