“By no means,” interrupted Arthur. “It is a matter of perfect indifference to me where I go. I beg that you will take it.”
“Oh, thank you. You are very good, but I could not think of robbing you of your cabin.”
“I must implore you to do so. Rather than there should be any difficulty, I will go below.” And then, addressing the clerk, “Be so kind as to change the cabin.”
“I owe you many thanks for your courtesy,” said Mrs. Carr, with a little curtsey.
Arthur took off his hat.
“Then we will consider that settled. Good morning, or perhaps I should say au revoir;” and, bowing again, he left the office.
“What is that gentleman’s name?” Mrs. Carr asked, when he was gone.
“Here it is, madam, on the list. ‘Arthur Preston Heigham, passenger to Madeira.’”
“Arthur Preston Heigham!” Mrs. Carr said to herself, as she made her way down to her carriage in Fenchurch Street. “Arthur is pretty, and Preston is pretty, but I don’t much like Heigham. At any rate, there is no doubt about his being a gentleman. I wonder what he is going to Madeira for? He has an interesting face. I think I am glad we are going to be fellow-passengers.”
The two days that remained to him in town, Arthur spent in making his preparations for departure; getting money, buying, after the manner of young Englishmen starting on a voyage to foreign parts, a large and fearfully sharp hunting-knife, as though Madeira were the home of wild beasts, and laying in a stock of various other articles of a useless description, such as impenetrable sun-helmets and leather coats.