'"MY DEAR MRS. COURTLAND,
'"You will be glad to hear that Stella and I are fast engaged once more, and with your kind consent we must be married on the fifth of next month, so as to set sail for Europe on the sixteenth."'
'You see, Stella, I cannot make it any sooner,' said Ted, with a twinkle in his eyes—his line being to keep Stella literally to her mood of last night—'that is, as you object to the French line. There is an extra boat to sail on the eighth.'
She sat staring at him as if she did not hear him. She was following in the wake of a ship that went on its remorseless way day and night, speeding every hour nearer to its goal. Did it bear hearts that beat joyfully at the thought?
'I do not believe you hear what I say, Stella?'
'Oh yes, I do. What makes you think my mother will be glad for me to leave her?'
'I don't; a fellow must say something. But about the French boat?'
'Do not speak of that line. There was only one little Christian boat among them all, and it went down in a frightful storm in mid-ocean—a long way off. But still at times I hear the cries of the drowning; and there is a woman's face. She does not sink, but she has lost everything!'
'Stella, if you want to spin a yarn as you used to, do tell a jollier one than that thing. Anyone would think you saw it, and your eyes are getting larger than ever.'
She got up and looked at herself in a little plush-framed mirror near her.