And again he is struck with the well-modulated tones, which he scarcely associates with American voices.
Still they must be Americans, the young man argues to himself, but no longer finding an excuse to tarry in their vicinity, he moves off, and they meet no more till dinner-time.
Meanwhile, with the philosophy of an old traveller, Mr. Gordon-Treherne has interviewed the head steward, and, foregoing the honour of sitting at the captain’s table, he has asked to be placed at a small one with a sofa-seat. Experience during previous voyages has taught him that there are certain comforts not to be despised in a side seat under a strong light. He sees several prospective lonely evenings, when he may not feel inclined to hunt about for a good place to read.
At dinner Mr. Gordon-Treherne notices two elderly men and a small boy at his table, and remarks two vacant places. Presently his two interesting acquaintances of the morning appear, and he has just time to read the cards on the plates on either side of him—“Mrs. Barry” on one, and “Miss Stuyvesant” on the other—and to comprehend that by some blunder he is separating them, and that he can only remedy the matter by giving up his cherished seat, when the two ladies arrive at their places. There is a moment’s hesitation, and Mr. Gordon-Treherne remarks, “Allow me to change my place.” Suiting the action to the word, he steps past and allows Mrs. Barry to take his seat, which brings him opposite Miss Stuyvesant. Both ladies express their thanks, and then, naturally, they fall into conversation. They speak of the steamers; Mr. Gordon-Treherne prefers a larger boat, and refers to several “ocean greyhounds” he has personally known. Curiously enough the ladies have made the same crossings, but prefer even smaller steamers than the Lahn. “Americans, surely; ‘Globe Trotters,’” he thinks.
He mentions that he has just been to the Exhibition at Chicago. Miss Stuyvesant says that in point of exhibits she preferred the Paris Exposition of ’89, and so on, until it seems as if there were no place this young woman had not seen and about which she had not formed her conclusions. He doesn’t care for it though, Arab that he is; he likes to travel, but the women of his family have never expressed a desire to go beyond Paris, and he thinks promiscuous sight-seeing outside a woman’s province. He shows a little of this in his manner, for as he leaves the table, the elder woman says:
“How glad I am, Helen, that you do not believe in International marriages. Now here is a well-bred, intelligent Englishman, yet he shows insensibly what narrow ideas he has about women. I admit he is polite, and careful in small details of manner, but an American girl of spirit could never be happily married to him. Their ideas of life are too opposed.”
Miss Stuyvesant has evidently not thought much about him, for she only smiles in a vague way, and says she has learned not to quarrel with the old-fashioned notions of English people.
“Why, I pride myself in actually leading them, when they start in a tirade against the very things I do myself!” she said.
“You are a sadly worldly young woman,” Mrs. Barry rejoins, “and I wish you would marry and settle in your own country.”
Meanwhile Mr. Gordon-Treherne was idly pacing the deck, smoking his cigar, and wondering if the self-possessed young woman would appear later on. “If ever I marry,” he resolves, “it will be to some woman who has not been everywhere and seen everything. I should feel as if I were travelling with an animated guide-book. I wonder if that girl has a home?”