And then for a moment he stood and looked at them—and looked about the cabin—and for a moment fear came. As a blow that staggered him there fell upon him the full significance of their glaring contrast with the rich fittings of the stateroom-de-luxe about him. They seemed to mock at him, these garments, and jeeringly bid him put them back again into the trunk—as he had done once before. What hideously insincere jest did he imagine he was playing with himself, they sneered at him! What had he to do with toil, and poverty, and hardship, with the life these things stood for—he who knew the palaces of kings, he who had luxury, he who had fame, he who had all that he had ever longed for, he who had everything that money, that position, that authority could procure, he who had but to rub the lamp and demand of the world his will?
"No, no!" he cried out suddenly aloud—and, with a quick, impulsive movement, tore off his ulster and threw it on the bed. It was Marie-Louise now—Marie-Louise! Once she had given her all for him. It was Marie-Louise, wonderful, beautiful, pitiful, the saddest soul in all the world, out there alone on the steerage deck!
And then he stood still again, hesitant, listening. Some one was knocking on the cabin door. And now the door was tried—the knock repeated. Disturbed, uncertain, he still hesitated—then, stepping into the sitting-room, he closed the connecting door between it and the bedroom, and unlocked and opened the door to the deck.
It was Henry Bliss.
"Ah, you're here, Jean!" the other exclaimed, with what was obviously an attempt at unconcern, as he stepped into the cabin. "I've been looking for you all over the ship. What are you doing up here in your room alone, with all this gaiety going on below? Eh—what's the matter?"
Jean stared at Henry Bliss a little sullenly. Since the other had come, was there—it remained only to get rid of him as soon as possible.
"There is nothing the matter," he said shortly—and shrugged his shoulders.
Henry Bliss frowned, and rubbed his hand over his chin nervously.
"Confound it, Jean!" he burst out abruptly. "I know better! You and Myrna have been having another—er—another misunderstanding. In fact, she—that is, I discovered it a few moments ago. I"—he glanced about him as though to make sure they were alone, and caught Jean's arm confidentially—"I spoke to her very seriously, very seriously about it. I—I am sure it is nothing. It is only that you take these things very much to heart, Jean, while she laughs at them."
"Pardieu!" ejaculated Jean ironically. "That is so!"