"_Est-ce que--est-ce que--ce bateau a vapeur va--va_--anywhere?"
A voluble assurance that it went at twelve-thirty did not content her.
She gathered her forces again.
"_Oui; mais ou est-ce qu'il va aller--?_"
The answer sounded something like "Sloosh," and the speaker pointed
vaguely up the green canal.
Elizabeth went on board. This was as good as Ghent. Better. There was an
element of adventure about it. "Sloosh" might be anywhere; one might not
reach it for days. But the boat had not the air of one used to long
cruises; and Elizabeth felt safe in playing with the idea of an
expedition into darkest Holland.
And now by chance, or because her movements interested him as much as
his presence repelled her, this same Edward Brown also came on board,
and, concealed by the deep daydream into which she had fallen, passed
her unseen.
When she shook the last drops of the daydream from her, she found
herself confronting the boat's only other passenger--himself.
She looked at him full and straight in the eyes, and with the look her
embarrassment left her and laid hold on him.