“You have travelled much?” I ventured.
“A great deal;” and again I saw that scrutiny in her eyes. It occurred to me at the moment that she might think I possessed some previous knowledge of her.
My mind became occupied again with the Intermediate Passenger and the portrait that he wore at his neck. I almost laughed to think of the melodramatic turn which my first conversation with this woman might chance to take. I felt that I was dealing with one who was able to meet cleverly any advance of mine, but I determined to lead the talk into as deep waters as possible.
“I suppose, too, you are a good practical sailor—that is, you understand seamanship, if you have travelled much?” I do not know why I said that, for it sounded foolish to me afterwards.
“Pretty well,” she replied. “I can manage a sail; I know the argot, I could tell the shrouds from the bulwarks, and I’ve rowed a boat in a choppy sea.”
“It is not an accomplishment usual to your sex.”
“It was ordinary enough where I spent the early part of my life,” was the idle reply; and she settled herself more comfortably in her chair.
“Yes? May I ask where that was?” and as I said this, it occurred to me that she was, perhaps, leading me on, instead of my leading her; to betray me as to anything I knew about her.
“In the South Seas,” she replied. “My father was a British consul in the Islands.”
“You have not come from the Islands now, I suppose?”