His familiarity with us shed a sort of reflected glory upon
Hephzy and me. Several of our fellow-passengers spoke to us that evening
for the first time.

A. Carleton Heathcroft, Esquire, was not among the Lounge habitues; the
smoke-room was his accustomed haunt. But the next forenoon as I leaned
over the rail of the after promenade deck watching the antics of the
"Stokers' Band" which was performing for the benefit of the second-class
with an eye toward pennies and small silver from all classes, Heathcroft
sauntered up and leaned beside me. We exchanged good-mornings. I thanked
him for the wine.

"Quite unnecessary, Knowles," he said. "Least I could do, it seems to
me. I pulled quite a tidy bit from that inside information of yours;
I did really. Awfully obliged, and all that. You seem to have a wide
acquaintance among the officers. That captain chap tells us he knew your
father--the sailor one you told me of, you understand."

Having had but one father I understood perfectly. We chatted in a
inconsequential way for a short time. In the course of our conversation
I happened to mention that I wrote, professionally. To my surprise
Heathcroft was impressed.

"Do you, really!" he exclaimed. "That's interesting, isn't it now! I
have a cousin who writes. Don't know why she does it; she doesn't get
her writings printed, but she keeps on. It is a habit of hers. Curious
dissipation--eh, what? Does that--er--Miss--that companion of yours,
write also?"

I laughed and informed him that writing was not one of Hephzibah's bad
habits.

"Extraordinary woman, isn't she," he said. "I met her just now, walking
about, and I happened to mention that I was taking the air. She said she
wouldn't quarrel with me because of that. The more I took the better
she would like it; she could spare about a gale and a quarter and not
feel--What did she call it? Oh yes, 'scrimped.' What is 'scrimped,' may
I ask?"

I explained the meaning of "scrimped." Heathcroft was much amused.

"It WAS blowing a bit strong up forward there," he declared. "That was a
clever way of putting it, wasn't it?"

"She is a clever woman," I said, shortly.

Heathcroft did not enthuse.

"Oh," he said dubiously. "A relative of yours, I suppose."

"A cousin, that's all."

"One's relatives, particularly the feminine relatives, incline toward
eccentricity as they grow older, don't you think. I have an aunt down in
Sussex, who is queer. A good sort, too, no end of mone