第 7 页

"Nearly through?" he asked dolefully.

"Of The Siege of London?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Oh, I am through that long ago, and have begun another story."

"Now, that is not according to contract," claimed Morris. "The contract was that when you got through with The Siege of London you were to let me talk with you, and that you were to tell me the story."

"That was not my interpretation of it. Our bargain, as I understood it, was that I was to have this forenoon to myself, and that I was to use the forenoon for reading. I believe my engagement with you began in the afternoon."

"I wish it did," said the young man, with a wistful look.

"You wish what?" she said, glancing up at him sharply.

He blushed as he bent over towards her and whispered, "That our engagement, Miss Katherine, began in the afternoon."

The colour mounted rapidly into her cheeks, and for a moment George Morris thought he had gone too far. It seemed as if a sharp reply was ready on her lips; but, as on another occasion, she checked it and said nothing. Then she opened her book and began to read. He waited for a moment and said—

"Miss Earle, have I offended you?"

"Did you mean to give offence?" she asked.

"No, certainly, I did not."

"Then why should you think you had offended me?"

"Well, I don't know, I—" he stammered.

Miss Earle looked at him with such clear, innocent, and unwavering eyes that the young man felt that he could neither apologise nor make an explanation.

"I'm afraid," he said, "that I am encroaching on your time."

"Yes, I think you are: that is, if you intend to live up to your contract, and let me live up to mine. You have no idea how much more interesting this book is than you are."

"Why, you are not a bit flattering, Miss Earle, are you?"

"No, I don't think I am. Do you try to be?"

"I'm afraid that in my lifetime I have tried to be, but I assure you, Miss Earle, that I don't try to be flattering, or try to be anything but what I really am when I am in your company. To tell the truth, I am too much afraid of you."

Miss Earle smiled and went on with her reading, while Morris went once more back into the smoking-room.

"Now then," said George Morris, when lunch was over, "which is it to be? The luxurious languor of the steamer chair or the energetic exercise of the deck? Take your choice."

"Well," answered the young lady, "as I have been enjoying the luxurious languor all the forenoon, I prefer the energetic exercise, if it is agreeable to you, for a while, at least."

"It is very agreeable to me. I am all energy this afternoon. In fact, now that you have consented to allow me to talk with you, I feel as if I were imbued with a new life."

"Dear me," said she, "and all because of the privilege of talking to me?"

"All."

"How nice that is. You are sure that it is not the effect of the sea air?"

"Quite certain. I had the sea air this forenoon, you know."

"Oh, yes, I had forgotten that."

"Well, which side of the deck then?"

"Oh, which ever is the least popular side. I dislike a crowd."

"I think, Miss Earle, that we will have this side pretty much to ourselves. The madd'ing crowd seems to have a preference for the sunny part of the ship. Now, then, for the siege of London. Who besieged it?"

"A lady."

"Did she succeed?"

"She did."

"Well, I am very glad to hear it, indeed. What was she besieging it for?"

"For social position, I presume.

"Then, as we say out West, I suppose she had a pretty hard row to hoe?"

"Yes, she had."

"Well, I never can get at the story by cross-questioning. Now, supposing that you tell it to me."

"I think that you had better take the book and read it. I am not a good story-teller."

"Why, I thought we Americans were considered excellent story-tellers.'

"We Americans?"

"Oh, I remember now, you do not lay claim to being an American. You are English, I think you said?"

"I said nothing of the kind. I merely said I lay no claims to being an American."

"Yes, that was it."

"Well, you will be pleased to know that this lady in the siege of London was an American. You seem so anxious to establish a person's nationality that I am glad to be able to tell you at the very first that she was an American, and, what is more, seemed to be a Western American."

"Seemed? Oh, there we get into uncertainties again. If I like to know whether persons are Americans or not, it naturally follows that I am anxious to know whether they were Western or Eastern Americans. Aren't you sure she was a Westerner?"

"The story, unfortunately, leaves that a little vague, so if it displeases you I shall be glad to stop the telling of it."

"Oh no, don't do that. I am quite satisfied to take her as an American citizen; whether she is East or West, or North or South, does not make the slightest difference to me. Please go on with the story."

"Well, the other characters, I am happy to be able to say, are not at all indefinite in the matter of nationality. One is an Englishman; he is even more than that, he is an English nobleman. The other is an American. Then there is the English nobleman's mother, who, of course, is an English woman; and the American's sister, married to an Englishman, and she, of course, is English-American. Does that satisfy you?"

"Perfectly. Go on."

"It seems that the besieger, the heroine of the story if you may call her so, had a past."

"Has not everybody had a past?"

"Oh no. This past is known to the American and is unknown to the English nobleman."

"Ah, I see; and the American is in love with her in spite of her past?"

"Not in Mr. James's story."

"Oh, I beg pardon. Well, go on; I shall not interrupt again."

"It is the English nobleman who is in love with her in spite of his absence of knowledge about her past. The English nobleman's mother is very much against the match. She tries to get the American to tell what the past of this woman is. The American refuses to do so. In fact, in Paris he has half promised the besieger not to say anything about her past. She is besieging London, and she wishes the American to remain neutral. But the nobleman's mother at last gets the American to promise that he will tell her son what he knows of this woman's past. The American informs the woman what he has promised the nobleman's mother to do, and at this moment the nobleman enters the room. The besieger of London, feeling that her game is up, leaves them together. The American says to the nobleman, who stands rather stiffly before him, 'If you wish to ask me any questions regarding the lady who has gone out I shall be happy to tell you.' Those are not the words of the book, but they are in substance what he said. The nobleman looked at him for a moment with that hauteur which, we presume, belongs to noblemen, and said quietly, 'I wish to know nothing.' Now, that strikes me as a very dramatic point in the story."

"But didn't he wish to know anything of the woman whom he was going to marry?"

"I presume that, naturally, he did."

"And yet he did not take the opportunity of finding out when he had the chance?"

"No, he did not."

"Well, what do you think of that?"

"What do I think of it? I think it's a very dramatic point in the story."

"Yes, but what do you think of his wisdom in refusing to find out what sort of a woman he was going to marry? Was he a fool or was he a very noble man?"

"Why, I thought I said at the first that he was a nobleman, an Englishman."

"Miss Katherine, you are dodging the question. I asked your opinion of that man's wisdom. Was he wise, or was he a fool?"

"What do you think about it? Do you think he was a fool, or a wise man?"

"Well, I asked you for your opinion first. However, I have very little hesitation in saying, that a man who marries a woman of whom he knows nothing, is a fool."

"Oh, but he was well acquainted with this woman. It was only her past that he knew nothing about."

"Well, I think you must admit that a woman's past and a man's past are very important parts of their lives. Don't you agree with me?"

"I agree with you so seldom that I should hesitate to say I did on this occasion. But I have told the story very badly. You will have to read it for yourself to thoroughly appreciate the different situations, and then we can discuss the matter intelligently."

"You evidently think the man was very noble in refusing to hear anything about the past of the lady he was interested in."

"I confess I do. He was noble, at least, in refusing to let a third party tell him. If he wished any information he should have asked the lady himself."

"Yes, but supposing she refused to answer him?"

"Then, I think he should either have declined to have anything more to do with her, or, if he kept up his acquaintance, he should have taken her just as she was, without any reference to her past."

"I suppose you are right. Still, it is a very serious thing for two people to marry without knowing something of each other's lives."

"I am tired of walking," said Miss Earle, "I am now going to seek comfort in the luxuriousness, as you call it, of my steamer chair."

"And may I go with you?" asked the young man.

"If you also are tired of walking."

"You know," he said, "you promised the whole afternoon. You took the forenoon with The Siege, and now I don't wish to be cheated out of my half of the day."

"Very well, I am rather interested in another story, and if you will take The Siege of London, and read it, you'll find how much better the book is than my telling of the story."

George Morris had, of course, to content himself with this proposition, and they walked together to the steamer chairs, over which the gaily coloured rugs were spread.

"Shall I get your book for you?" asked the young man, as he picked up the rugs.

"Thank you," answered Miss Earle, with a laugh, "you have already done so," for, as he shook out the rugs, the two books, which were small handy volumes, fell out on the deck.

"I see you won't accept my hint about not leaving the books around. You will lose some precious volume one of these days."

"Oh, I fold them in the rugs, and they are all right. Now, here is your volume. Sit down there and read it." "That means also, 'and keep quiet,' I suppose?"

"I don't imagine you are versatile enough to read and talk at the same time. Are you?"

"I should be very tempted to try it this afternoon."

Miss Earle went on with her reading, and Morris pretended to go on with his. He soon found, however, that he could not concentrate his attention on the little volume in his hand, and so quickly abandoned the attempt, and spent his time in meditation and in casting furtive glances at his fair companion over the top of his book. He thought the steamer chair a perfectly delightful invention. It was an easy, comfortable, and adjustable apparatus, that allowed a person to sit up or to recline at almost any angle. He pushed his chair back a little, so that be could watch the profile of Miss Katherine Earle, and the dark tresses that formed a frame for it, without risking the chance of having his espionage discovered.

"Aren't you comfortable?" asked the young lady, as he shoved back his chair.

"I am very, very comfortable," replied the young man.

"I am glad of that," she said, as she resumed her reading.

George Morris watched her turn leaf after leaf as he reclined lazily in his chair, with half-closed eyes, and said to himself, "Shop-girl or not, past or not, I'm going to propose to that young lady the first good opportunity I get. I wonder what she will say?"

"How do you like it?" cried the young lady he was thinking of, with a suddenness that made Morris jump in his chair.

"Like it?" he cried; "oh, I like it immensely."

"How far have you got?" she continued.

"How far? Oh, a great distance. Very much further than I would have thought it possible when I began this voyage."

Miss Earle turned and looked at him with wide-open eyes, as he made this strange reply.

"What are you speaking of?" she said.

"Oh, of everything—of the book, of the voyage, of the day."'

"I was speaking of the book," she replied quietly. "Are you sure you have not fallen asleep and been dreaming?"

"Fallen asleep? No. Dreaming? Yes."

"Well, I hope your dreams have been pleasant ones."

"They have."

Miss Earle, who seemed to think it best not to follow her investigations any further, turned once more to her own book, and read it until it was time to dress for dinner. When that important meal was over, Morris said to Miss Earle: "Do you know you still owe me part of the day?"

"I thought you said you had a very pleasant afternoon."

"So I had. So pleasant, you see, that I want to have the pleasure prolonged. I want you to come out and have a walk on the deck now in the starlight. It is a lovely night, and, besides, you are now halfway across the ocean, and yet I don't think you have been out once to see the phosphorescence. That is one of the standard sights of an ocean voyage. Will you come?"

Although the words were commonplace enough, there was a tremor in his voice which gave a meaning to them that could not be misunderstood. Miss Earle looked at him with serene composure, and yet with a touch of reproachfulness in her glance. "He talks like this to me," she said to herself, "while he is engaged to another woman."

"Yes," she answered aloud, with more firmness in her voice than might have seemed necessary, "I will be happy to walk on the deck with you to see the phosphorescence."