And so they parted. I saw him move on towards the companion-way, and though I felt instinctively that all had gone ill with him, I was surprised to see how erect he walked. After a minute I approached her. She heard me coming, and presently turned to me with a curious smile. “Who is Mr. Charles Boyd?” she asked. “I did not pierce his disguise. I could not tell whether I had met him on board before. Have I? But my impression is that I had not seen him on the ship.”
“No, you had not seen him,” I replied. “He had a fancy to travel, until yesterday, with the second-class passengers. Now he has a first-class cabin—in his proper place, in fact.”
“You think so—in his proper place?” The suggestion was not pleasant.
“Assuredly. Why do you speak in that way?” was my indignant reply.
She took my arm as we moved on. “Because he was slightly rude to me.”
I grew bold, and determined to bring her to some sort of reckoning.
“How rude were you to him?”
“Not rude at all. It is not worth while being so—to anybody,” was her chilly answer.
“I was under the impression you had met him before,” I said gravely.
“Indeed? And why?” She raised her eyebrows at me. I pushed the matter to a conclusion. “He was ill the other day—he has heart trouble. It was necessary for me to open the clothes about his neck. On his breast I saw a little ivory portrait of a woman’s head.”