"Well, it is nearly over," said Mrs. Cox, as she came upon deck after dinner, warmly cloaked. "How cold we all are!"
"Yes; it is nearly over," answered Bertram. "What an odd life of itself one of these voyages is! How intimate people are who will never see each other again!"
"Yes; that is the way, I suppose. Oh, Mr. Bertram!"
"Well, what would you have?"
"Ah, me! I hardly know. Fate has ever been against me, and I know that it will be so to the last."
"Is it not cold?" said Bertram, buttoning up a greatcoat as he spoke.
"Very cold! very cold!" said Mrs. Cox. "But there is something much colder than the weather—very much colder."
"You are severe, Mrs. Cox."
"Yes. It is Mrs. Cox here. It was Annie when we were off Gibraltar. That comes of being near home. But I knew that it would be so. I hate the very idea of home." And she put her handkerchief to her eyes.
She had had her chance as far as Bertram was concerned, and had let it pass from her. He did not renew his protestations; but in lieu of doing so, lit a cigar, and walked away into the fore-part of the vessel. "After all, Arthur is right," said he to himself; "marriage is too serious a thing to be arranged in a voyage from Alexandria to Southampton."