ing, had a suggestion of fragility that was belied by the
robustness of her body. At least, one would argue that her body must be
robust from her fashion of movement of it, though little could one divine
the lines of it under the shapelessness of the furs.

I turned away on my heel and fell moodily to contemplating the mountain
of luggage. A huge packing-case attracted my attention, and I was
staring at it when she spoke at my shoulder.

"That's what really caused the delay," she said.

"What is it?" I asked incuriously.

"Why, the _Elsinore's_ piano, all renovated. When I made up my mind to
come, I telegraphed Mr. Pike--he's the mate, you know. He did his best.
It was the fault of the piano house. And while we waited to-day I gave
them a piece of my mind they'll not forget in a hurry."

She laughed at the recollection, and commenced to peep and peer into the
luggage as if in search of some particular piece. Having satisfied
herself, she was starting back, when she paused and said:

"Won't you come into the cabin where it's warm? We won't be there for
half an hour."

"When did you decide to make this voyage?" I demanded abruptly.

So quick was the look she gave me that I knew she had in that moment
caught all my disgruntlement and disgust.

"Two days ago," she answered. "Why?"

Her readiness for give and take took me aback, and before I could speak
she went on:

"Now you're not to be at all silly about my coming, Mr. Pathurst. I
probably know more about long-voyaging than you do, and we're all going
to be comfortable and happy. You can't bother me, and I promise you I
won't bother you. I've sailed with passengers before, and I've learned
to put up with more than they ever proved they were able to put up with.
So there. Let us start right, and it won't be any trouble to keep on
going right. I know what is the matter with you. You think you'll be
called upon to entertain me. Please know that I do not need
entertainment. I never saw the longest voyage that was too long, and I
always arrive at the end with too many things not done for the passage
ever to have been tedious, and . . . I don't play _Chopsticks_."

CHAPTER II

The _Elsinore_, fresh-loaded with coal, lay very deep in the water when
we came alongside. I knew too little about ships to be capable of
admiring her lines, and, besides, I was in no mood for admiration. I was
still debating with myself whether or not to chuck the