"Now she's dead."
"My mother," the girl volunteered, "died when I was born. That made my father hate the thought of me, because he worshipped her, and it must have seemed my fault that she was lost to him. I haven't seen my father since I was a little girl. But I'm going to him now. I've practically run away from the aunts he put me to live with; and I'd hardly any money, so I was obliged to travel all the way second-class."
"That's exactly what I thought!" ejaculated Max.
"Did you think about me, too?" she asked, interest in their talk helping her to forget the rolling of the ship.
"Yes, I thought about you—of course."
"That I'd run away?"
"Well, you were so different from the rest, it was queer to see you in the second-class."
"But so are you—different from the rest. Yet you're in the second-class."
"I'm hard up," exclaimed Max, smiling.
"You, too! How strange that we, of all the others, should come together like this. It is as if it were somehow meant to be, isn't it? As if we were intended to do something for each other in future. I wish I could do something for you, to pay you for to-night."