The purser was affable but tremendously busy. Yes, he knew the lady. She had crossed on the Marlatic a few weeks before. She was a Senorita Elsa Ferreira, a Brazilian lady who was connected with a famous German family. The lady with her was the Baroness Ostersacken. If Mr. Topham wanted any more information, he would endeavor to oblige him later on. At the present moment, however, in the hurry of departure, he—
Topham thanked him and went on deck, feeling the throb of the propeller beneath his feet as he did so. The steamer was in midstream heading toward the lower bay and the open sea.
For an hour or more Topham paced the deck hoping in vain for another sight of the girl who had so fascinated him. The wind was blowing strongly, and as the Marlatic approached Sandy Hook, she began to pitch with, the motion of the Atlantic rollers, and her passengers began to disappear. When she crossed the bar all but a handful had deserted the decks. Many seats were vacant when the gong rang for luncheon, and as Miss Ferreira did not appear, Topham began to fear that she was a poor sailor who would keep her cabin all throughout the voyage.
All afternoon he paced the deck despite the increasing unpleasantness of the weather. Darkness fell early and when he came up from dinner and from a tour of the main saloon without seeing anything of the girl, he was forced to abandon hope of finding her that night.
As he leaned grumpily over the rail watching the dim white caps that chased each other athwart the course of the ship, one of the few passengers on deck came and leaned by his side.
“It makes rough, eh! senor?” said the man. “We shall have storm? What you think?”
At the soft Spanish accent, Topham looked quickly up and recognized a Spanish-looking personage whom he remembered having seen crossing the gang plank.
“Oh! no!” he replied, lightly. “I think not. It’s damp and cold and unpleasant, but not stormy. Tomorrow will probably be clear.”
“That is good. I no like the storm. It is bad for the—the stomach, do you say, senor? I no get sick, but I feel sorry for the others.” He took out a package of cigarettes and offered them to Topham. “You smoke, senor?” he asked.
Cigarettes were not Topham’s failing, but he helped himself nevertheless. He was lonely and wanted companionship. Besides, the man seemed to be a Spanish-American and anything from Spanish-America had a special charm for Topham since he had heard that Miss Ferreira was from that part of the world.