aid George, "you have some one else to think about. I
have no one, unless it be this widow. She is kind to me, and as to
what the world says, I care nothing about it."

On that day Wilkinson was busy with his books, and did not walk with
Mrs. Price--a piece of neglect which sat uneasily on that lady's
mind. But at ten o'clock, as usual, Bertram was pacing the deck with
Mrs. Cox.

"What is the matter with your friend?" said she.

"Oh, nothing. He is home-sick, I suppose."

"I hope he has not quarrelled with Minnie." For the two ladies had
come to call each other by their Christian names when they were in
company with the gentlemen; and Bertram had once or twice used that
of Mrs. Cox, not exactly in speaking to her, but in speaking of her
in her presence.

"Oh dear, no," said Bertram.

"Because it is so odd he should not give her his arm as usual. I
suppose you will be treating me so as we draw nearer to Southampton?"
And she looked up at him with a bewitching smile, and pressed gently
on his arm, and then let her eyes fall upon the deck.

My brother, when you see these tricks played upon other men, the gall
rises black within your breast, and you loudly condemn wiles which
are so womanly, but which are so unworthy of women. But how do you
feel when they are played upon yourself? The gall is not so black,
the condemnation less loud; your own merit seems to excuse the
preference which is shown you; your heart first forgives and then
applauds. Is it not so, my brother, with you? So it was, at least,
with George Bertram.

"What! treating you with neglect, because we are soon to part?"

"Yes, exactly so; just that; because we are soon to part. That is
what makes it so bitter. We have been such good friends, haven't we?"

"And why should we not remain so? Why should we talk of parting? We
are both going to England."

"England! Yes, but England is a large place. Come, let us lean on
the taffrail, and look at the dolphins. There is that horrid fellow
eyeing me, as he always does; Major Biffin, I mean. Is he not exactly
like a barber's block? I do so hate him!"

"But he doesn't hate you, Mrs. Cox."

"Doesn't he? Well then, he may if he likes. But don't let's talk of
him. Talk to me about England, Mr. Bertram. Sometimes I do so long to
be there--and then sometimes I don't."

"You don't--why not?"

"Do you?"

"No, I do not; I tell you frankly. I'd sooner be here with you to
talk to, with you to look at."

"P