phrase was running in his head!

He made a little tour of that portion of the boat set aside for
passengers of the second class, and realised that the frugal Germans
were much less generous in their provision for those humble ones than
was the English line on which he had come to Europe. There the second
class was well amidships, with a deck-room almost equal to that given
the aristocrats at the bow. Here the second class was at the very stern,
and the deck-room was limited indeed. Of course, Dan told himself, the
_Ottilie_ was a crack boat, designed to cater to the most exclusive
trade; but he looked forward at the long stretches set apart for the
first cabin with a little envy.

The boat was crowded, but he saw nothing of the black-haired girl, and
finally, after finding that there was no hope of getting a deck-chair,
he sought the dining-room steward, got his table-ticket, and made his
way back to his stateroom. But on the threshold he paused. A man was
lying in the upper berth, the light at his head turned on and a paper in
his hand. He raised his head and looked down, at the sound of the door,
and Dan had the impression of a bronzed countenance lighted by a pair of
very brilliant eyes.

"Ah," said a pleasant voice, "so this is my shipmate," and the stranger
swung his legs over the side of the berth and dropped lightly to the
floor. Again Dan had the impression of the bright eyes upon him.

"It looks that way," he said. And then a sudden compunction seized him.
"I didn't mean to be a pig and take the lower berth. You are quite
welcome to it."

"Oh, no, no," protested the other. "The choice is always to the first
comer. That is the rule of the sea."

Dan noticed that, though he spoke English well, it was with the clipped
accent which betrayed the Frenchman.

"Then I choose the upper one," he said, laughing.

The other shrugged his shoulders.

"I can but thank you," he said. "After all, you are younger than I. My
name is Andre Chevrial, very much at your service," and he held out his
hand.

If he had announced himself to be a prince of the blood, Dan would not
have been surprised, for there was that in his bearing which bespoke the
finished gentleman, and a magnetism in his manner to which Dan was
already yielding.

"Mine is Webster--Dan Webster," he said, and took the outstretched hand
warmly.

M. Chevrial looked a little puzzled.

"The name seems somehow familiar," he said; "but I cannot quite plac