The last bell had rung. Those who were going ashore had taken their
departure. Crowds of human beings clustered on the pier-head, and at the
large doorways of the warehouse which stood open on the steamer wharf. As
the big ship slowly backed out there was a fluttering of handkerchiefs
from the mass on the pier, and an answering flutter from those who
crowded along the bulwarks of the steamer. The tug slowly pulled the prow
of the vessel round, and at last the engines of the steamship began their
pulsating throbs--throbs that would vibrate night and day until the
steamer reached an older civilization. The crowd on the pier became more
and more indistinct to those on board, and many of the passengers went
below, for the air was bitterly cold, and the boat was forcing its way
down the bay among huge blocks of ice.
Two, at least, of the passengers had taken little interest in the
departure. They were leaving no friends behind them, and were both
setting their faces toward friends at home.
'Let us go down,' said Wentworth to Kenyon, 'and see that we get seats
together at table before all are taken.'
'Very good,' replied his companion, and they descended to the roomy
saloon, where two long tables were already laid with an ostentatious
display of silver, glassware, and cutlery, which made many, who looked on
this wilderness of white linen with something like dismay, hope that the
voyage would be smooth, although, as it was a winter passage, there was
every chance it would not be. The purser and two of his assistants sat
at one of the shorter tables with a plan before them, marking off the
names of passengers who wished to be together, or who wanted some
particular place at any of the tables. The smaller side-tables were still
uncovered because the number of passengers at that season of the year was
comparatively few. As the places were assigned, one of the helpers to the
purser wrote the names of the passengers on small cards, and the other
put the cards on the tables.
One young woman, in a beautifully-fitting travelling gown, which was
evidently of the newest cut and design, stood a little apart from the
general group which surrounded the purser and his assistants. She eagerly
scanned every face, and listened attentively to the names given.
Sometimes a shade of disappointment crossed her brow, as if she expected
some particular person to possess some particular name which that
particular person did not bear. At last her eyes sparkled.
'My name is Wentworth,' said the young man whose turn it was.
'Ah! any favourite place, Mr. Wentworth?' asked the purser blandly, as if
he had known Wentworth all his life.
'No, we don't care where we sit; but my friend Mr. Kenyon and myself
would like places together.'
'Very good; you had better come to my table,' replied the purser.
'Numbers 23 and 24--Mr. Kenyon and Mr. Wentworth.'
The steward took the cards that were given him, and placed them to
correspond with the numbers the purser had named. Then the young woman
moved gracefully along, as if she were interested in the names upon the
table. She looked at Wentworth's name for a moment, and saw in the place
next to his the name of Mr. Brown. She gave a quick, apprehensive glance
around the saloon, and observed the two young men who had arranged for
their seats at table now walking leisurely toward the companion-way. She
took the card with the name of Mr. Brown upon it, and slipped upon the
table another on which were written the words 'Miss Jennie Brewster.' Mr.
Brown's card she placed on the spot from which she had taken her own.
'I hope Mr. Brown is not particular which place he occupies,' said Jennie
to herself; 'but at any rate I shall see that I am early for dinner, and
I'm sure Mr. Brown, whoever he is, will not be so ungallant as to insist
on having this place if he knows his card was here.'
Subsequent events proved her surmise regarding Mr. Brown's indifference
to be perfectly well founded. That young man searched for his card, found
it, and sat down on the chair opposite the young woman, who already
occupied her chair, and was, in fact, the first one at table. Seeing
there would be no unseemly dispute about places, she began to plan in her
own mind how she would first attract the attention of Mr. Wentworth.
While thinking how best to approach her victim, Jennie heard his voice.
'Here you are, Kenyon; here are our places.'
'Which is mine?' said the voice of Kenyon.
'It doesn't matter,' answered Wentworth, and then a thrill of fear went
through the gentle heart of Miss Jennie Brewster. She had not thought of
the young man not caring which seat he occupied, and she dreaded the
possibility of finding herself next to Kenyon rather than Wentworth. Her
first estimate of the characters of the two men seemed to be correct. She
always thought of Kenyon as Bunyan, and she felt certain that Wentworth
would be the easier man of the two to influence. The next moment her
fears were allayed, for Kenyon, giving a rapid glance at the handsome
young woman, deliberately chose the seat farthest from her, and
Wentworth, with 'I beg your pardon,' slipped in and sat down on the chair
beside her.
'Now,' thought Jennie, with a sigh of relief, 'our positions are fixed
for the meals of the voyage.' She had made her plans for beginning an
acquaintance with the young man, but they were rendered unnecessary by
the polite Mr. Wentworth handing her the bill of fare.
'Oh, thank you,' said the girl, in a low voice, which was so musical that
Wentworth glanced at her a second time and saw how sweet and pretty and
innocent she was.
'I'm in luck,' said the unfortunate young man to himself. Then he
remarked aloud: 'We have not many ladies with us this voyage.'
'No,' replied Miss Brewster; 'I suppose nobody crosses at this time of
the year unless compelled to.'
'I can answer for two passengers that such is the case.'
'Do you mean yourself as one?'
'Yes, myself and my friend.'
'How pleasant it must be,' said Miss Brewster, 'to travel with a friend!
Then one is not lonely. I, unfortunately, am travelling alone.'
'I fancy,' said the gallant Wentworth, 'that if you are lonely while on
board ship, it will be entirely your own fault.'
Miss Brewster laughed a silvery little laugh.
'I don't know about that,' she said. 'I am going to that Mecca of all
Americans--Paris. My father is to meet me there, and we are then going on
to the Riviera together.'
'Ah, that will be very pleasant,' said Wentworth. 'The Riviera at this
season is certainly a place to be desired.'
'So I have heard,' she replied.
'Have you not been across before?'
'No, this is my first trip. I suppose you have crossed many times?'
'Oh no,' answered the Englishman; 'this is only my second voyage, my
first having been the one that took me to America.'
'Ah, then you are not an American,' returned Miss Brewster, with
apparent surprise.
She imagined that a man is generally flattered when a mistake of this
kind is made. No matter how proud he may be of his country, he is pleased
to learn that there is no provincialism about him which, as the Americans
say, 'gives him away.'
'I think,' said Wentworth, 'as a general thing, I am not taken for
anything but what I am--an Englishman.'
'I have met so few Englishmen,' said the guileless young woman, 'that
really I should not be expected to know.'
'I understand it is a common delusion among Americans that every
Englishman drops his "h's," and is to be detected in that way.'
Jennie laughed again, and George Wentworth thought it one of the
prettiest laughs he had ever heard.
Poor Kenyon was rather neglected by his friend during the dinner. He felt
a little gloomy while the courses went on, and wished he had an evening
paper. Meanwhile, Wentworth and the handsome girl beside him got on very
well together. At the end of the dinner she seemed to have some
difficulty in getting up from her chair, and Wentworth showed her how to
turn it round, leaving her free to rise. She thanked him prettily.
'I am going on deck,' she said, turning to go; 'I am so anxious to get my
first glimpse of the ocean at night from the deck of a steamer.'
'I hope you will let me accompany you,' returned young Wentworth. 'The
decks are rather slippery, and even when the boat is not rolling it
isn't quite safe for a lady unused to the motion of a ship to walk alone
in the dark.'
'Oh, thank you very much,' replied Miss Brewster, with effusion. 'It
is kind of you, I am sure; and if you promise not to let me rob you
of the pleasure of your after-dinner cigar, I shall be most happy to
have you accompany me. I will meet you at the top of the stairway in
five minutes.'
'You are getting on,' said Kenyon, as the young woman disappeared.
'What's the use of being on board ship,' said Wentworth, 'If you don't
take advantage of the opportunity for making shipboard acquaintances?
There is an unconventionality about life on a steamer that is not without
its charm, as perhaps you will find out before the voyage is over, John.'
'You are merely trying to ease your conscience because of your heartless
desertion of me.'
George Wentworth had waited at the top of the companion-way a little more
than five minutes when Miss Brewster appeared, wrapped in a cloak edged
with fur, which lent an additional charm to her complexion, set off as it
was by a jaunty steamer cap. They stepped out on the deck, and found it
not at all so dark as they had expected. Little globes of electric light
were placed at regular intervals on the walls of the deck building.
Overhead was stretched a sort of canvas roof, against which the sleety
rain pattered. One of the sailors, with a rubber mop, was pushing into
the gutter by the side of the ship the moisture from the deck. All around
the boat the night was as black as ink, except here and there where the
white curl of a wave showed luminous for a moment in the darkness.
Miss Brewster insisted that Wentworth should light his cigar, which,
after some persuasion, he did. Then he tucked her hand snugly under his
arm, and she adjusted her step to suit his. They had the promenade all to
themselves. The rainy winter night was not so inviting to most of the
passengers as the comfortable rooms below. Kenyon, however, and one or
two others came up, and sat on the steamer chairs that were tied to the
brass rod which ran along the deckhouse wall. He saw the glow of
Wentworth's cigar as the couple turned at the farther end of the walk,
and when they passed him he heard a low murmur of conversation, and
caught now and then a snatch of silvery laughter. It was not because
Wentworth had deserted him that Kenyon felt so uncomfortable and
depressed. He could not tell just what it was, but there had settled on
his mind a strange, uneasy foreboding. After a time he went down into the
saloon and tried to read, but could not, and so wandered along the
seemingly endless narrow passage to his room (which was Wentworth's as
well), and, in nautical phrase, 'turned in.' It was late when his
companion came.
'Asleep, Kenyon?' asked the latter.
'No,' was the answer.
'By George! John, she is one of the most charming girls I ever met.
Wonderfully clever, too; makes a man feel like a fool beside her. She has
read nearly everything. Has opinions on all our authors, a great many of
whom I've never heard of. I wish, for your sake, John, she had a sister
on board.'
'Thanks, old man; awfully good of you, I'm sure,' said Kenyon. 'Don't
you think it's about time to stop raving, get into your bunk, and turn
out that confounded light?'
'All right, growler, I will.'
Meanwhile, in her own state-room, Miss Jennie Brewster was looking at her
reflection in the glass. As she shook out her long hair until it rippled
down her back, she smiled sweetly, and said to herself:
'Poor Mr. Wentworth! Only the first night out, and he told me his name
was George.'