Mr. George Morris began to find his “early coffees,” as he called them,
very delightful. It was charming to meet a pretty and entertaining
young lady every morning early when they had the deck practically to
themselves. The fourth day was bright and clear, and the sea was
reasonably calm. For the first time he was up earlier than Miss Earle,
and he paced the deck with great impatience, waiting for her
appearance. He wondered who and what she was. He had a dim, hazy idea
that some time before in his life, he had met her, and probably had
been acquainted with her. What an embarrassing thing it would be, he
thought, if he had really known her years before, and had forgotten
her, while she knew who he was, and had remembered him. He thought of
how accurately she had guessed his position in life—if it was a guess.
He remembered that often, when he looked at her, he felt certain he had
known her and spoken to her before. He placed the two steamer chairs in
position, so that Miss Earle’s chair would be ready for her when she
did appear, and then, as he walked up and down the deck waiting for
her, he began to wonder at himself. If any one had told him when he
left New York that, within three or four days he could feel such an
interest in a person who previous to that time had been an utter
stranger to him, he would have laughed scornfully and bitterly at the
idea. As it was, when he thought of all the peculiar circumstances of
the case, he laughed aloud, but neither scornfully nor bitterly.
“You must be having very pleasant thoughts, Mr. Morris,” said Miss
Earle, as she appeared with a bright shawl thrown over her shoulders,
instead of the long cloak that had encased her before, and with a Tam
o’ Shanter set jauntily on her black, curly hair.
“You are right,” said Morris, taking off his cap, “I was thinking of
you.”
“Oh, indeed,” replied the young lady, “that’s why you laughed, was it?
I may say that I do not relish being laughed at in my absence, or in my
presence either, for that matter.”
“Oh, I assure you I wasn’t laughing at you. I laughed with pleasure to
see you come on deck. I have been waiting for you.”
“Now, Mr. Morris, that from a man who boasts of his truthfulness is a
little too much. You did not see me at all until I spoke; and if, as
you say, you were thinking of me, you will have to explain that laugh.”
“I will explain it before the voyage is over, Miss Earle. I can’t
explain it just now.”
“Ah, then you admit you were untruthful when you said you laughed
because you saw me?”
“I may as well admit it. You seem to know things intuitively. I am not
nearly as truthful a person as I thought I was until I met you. You
seem the very embodiment of truth. If I had not met you, I imagine I
should have gone through life thinking myself one of the most truthful
men in New York.”
“Perhaps that would not be saying very much for yourself,” replied the
young lady, as she took her place in the steamer chair.
“I am sorry you have such a poor opinion of us New Yorkers,” said the
young man. “Why are you so late this morning?”
“I am not late; it is you who are early. This is my usual time. I have
been a very punctual person all my life.”
“There you go again, speaking as if you were ever so old.”
“I am.”
“Well, I don’t believe it. I wish, however, that you had confidence
enough in me to tell me something about yourself. Do you know, I was
thinking this morning that I had met you before somewhere? I feel
almost certain I have.”
“Well, that is quite possible, you know. You are a New Yorker, and I
have lived in New York for a great number of years, much as you seem to
dislike that phrase.”
“New York! Oh, that is like saying you have lived in America and I have
lived in America. We might live for hundreds of years in New York and
never meet one another!”
“That is very true, except that the time is a little long.”
“Then won’t you tell me something about yourself?”
“No, I will not.”
“Why?”
“Why? Well, if you will tell me why you have the right to ask such a
question, I shall answer why.”
“Oh, if you talk of rights, I suppose I haven’t the right. But I am
willing to tell you anything about myself. Now, a fair exchange, you
know—”
“But I don’t wish to know anything about you.”
“Oh, thank you.”
George Morris’s face clouded, and he sat silent for a few moments.
“I presume,” he said again, “that you think me very impertinent?”
“Well, frankly, I do.”
Morris gazed out at the sea, and Miss Earle opened the book which she
had brought with her, and began to read. After a while her companion
said—
“I think that you are a little too harsh with me, Miss Earle.”
The young lady placed her finger between the leaves of the book and
closed it, looking up at him with a frank, calm expression in her dark
eyes, but said nothing.
“You see, it’s like this. I said to you a little while since that I
seem to have known you before. Now, I’ll tell you what I was thinking
of when you met me this morning. I was thinking what a curious thing it
would be if I had been acquainted with you some time during my past
life, and had forgotten you, while you had remembered me.”
“That was very flattering to me,” said the young lady; “I don’t wonder
you laughed.”
“That is why I did not wish to tell you what I had been thinking
of—just for fear that you would put a wrong construction on it—as you
have done. But now you can’t say anything much harsher to me than you
have said, and so I tell you frankly just what I thought, and why I
asked you those questions which you seem to think are so impertinent.
Besides this, you know, a sea acquaintance is different from any other
acquaintance. As I said, the first time I spoke to you—or the
second—there is no one here to introduce us. On land, when a person is
introduced to another person, he does not say, ‘Miss Earle, this is Mr.
Morris, who is a younger partner in the house of So-and-so.’ He merely
says, ‘Miss Earle, Mr. Morris,’ and there it is. If you want to find
anything out about him you can ask your introducer or ask your friends,
and you can find out. Now, on shipboard it is entirely different.
Suppose, for instance, that I did not tell you who I am, and—if you
will pardon me for suggesting such an absurd supposition—-imagine that
you wanted to find out, how could you do it?”