She raised herself and surveyed the decks in every direction. Then she took a less recumbent position.
"Who is the man that came to me at the top of the stairs?" she asked, in a whisper.
"His name is Edgerly and he is from Albany. I never saw him till yesterday."
"He has called at the office of my last employer, and I am afraid he recognized me. Did he say anything to intimate it?"
"No," I answered. "There is not one chance in a thousand that he remembers you. I never in my life have looked closely enough at a stenographer to know her if we met outside."
"I hope he doesn't," she said, uneasily. "I felt so sure there would be no one here who had ever seen me!"
"His chair is next yours at the table," I remarked. "If he intimates that your face is known to him you have only to convince him that he is mistaken."
"I want that seat changed," she said, earnestly. "Can't you sit between us? I—I can't explain why, but I don't like him. What business had he to offer me his arm?"
I laughed at the serious way she regarded the matter, saying he had only done as any gentleman might, but added that I would certainly put her between myself and Mr. Wesson, if she preferred.
"And who is Mr. Wesson?" she asked.