Thus far the voyage had hardly been all that could be desired as regards weather. January is seldom a good month for the Atlantic, and this year the crossing was nastier than usual. The Atlanta had no sooner cleared the Banks than it began to blow great guns. Gale followed gale with tropical downpours of rain, the wind blowing from every quarter at once, piling up mountainous combers that every now and again broke over the bridge, forty feet above the water. The tremendous seas crashed aboard with a thunderous roar, frightening the more timid among the passengers, smashing life-boats and ventilators, sweeping the decks from bow to stem with avalanches of green water. Skylights were shattered, bridge stanchions bent and twisted, but otherwise there was no damage. The big ship steamed true on her course, haughtily indifferent to the capricious ocean's moods, staunch as a rock, and quite as steady as any railroad-train moving at full speed.
The rough weather had the natural effect of confining most of the women folk to their staterooms, and as the men also kept to themselves, preferring bridge and poker in the smoking-room to the wet decks, there was not much opportunity for social amenities.
Owing to the high seas, no attempt was made to land at Madeira, and there was no little grumbling because the vagaries of the elements made it impossible to visit Funchal, the Pico Ruivo, Ponta Delgada, and other picturesque places of perennial verdure and flowers. The storm gradually abated, but it was not until the steamer entered the smoother waters of the Mediterranean that there was the slightest pretense at dress or any attempt made to put in regular appearances at dinner. However, the improvement in the weather and the close proximity of land, with the cheering prospect of going ashore, brought about a quick change in everybody's humor. The passengers' spirits rose with the barometer. Fine toilettes made their appearance on deck, the usual little steamer-chair cliques were speedily formed, and every one now started in to enjoy themselves as if the voyage had only just begun.
They landed gleefully in tenders, some to inspect the wonders of England's impregnable fortress, others to visit Spanishtown; they crowded to the rail as the ship steamed slowly past the enchanted island of Capri, so dear to the archeologist, and in the Bay of Naples they gazed in awe upon frowning Vesuvius, still smoking and rumbling after a disastrous eruption that had cost hundreds of lives. Sheep-like, after the manner of tourists, they hurried breathlessly through the attractions Naples had to offer, and then, skirting classic Scylla and Charybdis, they steamed on to the land of the Pharaohs, where a complete change of scene awaited them.
So far, Grace had kept much to herself. She was not particularly interested in anybody on board, and she found it a welcome novelty, after her recent strenuous social activities, to be able to enjoy a few hours of absolute rest. What with unpacking, writing letters home, and looking after Mrs. Stuart, who, almost from the start, had been completely prostrated with seasickness, she had found the time slip by rapidly and agreeably enough without having to seek diversion outside her immediate little circle. Her chaperon's indisposition furnished her with an admirable excuse for remaining in seclusion, and if another were needed, she had it in the inclemency of the weather. While she herself was not distressed by the rolling and pitching, the unusual motion did not add to her comfort. She preferred to stay in the privacy of her luxurious quarters, which were the object of the envy and curiosity of every other woman on board.
Mr. Harmon had spared no expense to secure for his daughter the best on the ship that money could buy. Grace occupied the "royal" suite, a series of sumptuously furnished and richly decorated rooms, entirely shut off from the rest of the ship, thus ensuring complete privacy, comprising bedroom, parlor, dining-room, with piano, telephone, library, etc. With her own maids to wait on her and all meals served privately, there was no necessity to leave her rooms unless she wished to, and if she chose to breathe the invigorating sea air there was no one to see her walk on the deserted lower promenade-deck on which her suite directly opened.
She had not gone ashore with the other passengers when the steamer stopped at Gibraltar and Naples. Mrs. Stuart was still indisposed, and she refused to leave her, but when the Atlanta reached Cairo, her chaperon was feeling better, and they both landed to see the sights. Mrs. Stuart had visited Egypt before, but to Grace it was like a glimpse of grand-opera land, a scene from "Aida." The waving palm-trees, the queer Oriental dwellings, the wonderful blue sky blazing on the peaceful desert, with its endless miles of burning sands, its beautiful oases, its camels and picturesquely costumed natives—all this made up a picture of delightful novelty for the young girl fresh from prosaic New York. She gazed wondering at the blue-turbaned Copts, they laughed merrily at the Fellahin in their blue skirts and stared at the yellow-turbaned Jews, fierce-looking Bedouins and black Nubians. At the cost of a few piastres but much muscular exertion, they were dragged up the face of the mighty pyramids, and with varying emotions they contemplated the time-eaten features of the inscrutable Sphinx.
The two women derived much enjoyment from their little jaunts. Sometimes they were escorted by Mr. Fitzhugh, who, despairing of making any headway with Mrs. Phelps now that his detested German rival, Count von Hatzfeld, had contrived to monopolize the widow, had begun to dance attendance upon Grace. He knew she had money in her own right, and his mouth watered at the magnitude of her expectations. There seemed no reason why the Harmon millions should not be as usefully employed in regilding the dilapidated Fitzhugh coat-of-arms as those of the late Mr. Phelps. But he did not make much progress, and he had a vague premonition that he was not the kind of chap to appeal to this cold, proud beauty. Discreet conversations on the subject with Mrs. Stuart went far to discourage him altogether.
"Grace does not expect to love the man she will marry, so her utter indifference does not reflect her feelings to you in the least," said that perspicacious student of modern femininity. This statement was not exactly true, but it served the purpose of the moment. "Even if she considered you a desirable match," she went on, "she would not be any more unbending. That indifferent, independent manner is her chief charm. It is the stateliness of the lily. Grace might marry you, but she would not love you. She is too much up to date to believe there is any such thing as love. Self-interest governs the world to-day—not love, which, after all, is only a primitive, vulgar emotion. Girls who want to marry well understand this thoroughly. Love and lovers are very delightful in fiction, but no sensible girl to-day takes them into account when planning her future welfare. When Grace does change her name, it will be to take that of one of the proudest families in Europe. Surely you know that she's already as good as engaged to Prince Sergius of Eurasia! As far as titles are concerned, that's going some!"
"But I may be a peer one day," protested Mr. Fitzhugh.