The brother and sister laughed; and the subject of the Van Winkles was not continued further.
CHAPTER IV
The rest of the voyage was performed swiftly and uneventfully. Mordaunt Ballinger walked the quarter-deck for hours with certain American men, whom he encouraged to talk of their various interests and enterprises, and believed he was gaining a vast store of useful information thereby. The acquaintances brought together in Mrs. Courtly's cabin saw more or less of each other, according to their proclivities; and in some cases intimacies were formed which could hardly die the natural death which is the common lot of close companionship on board ship. This was especially so in the friendship which Miss Ballinger had established with the Barhams, and though they lay more out of her path, so to speak, than the others, she resolved not to let the threads of her intercourse with mother and son drop on landing. She felt really interested in the young man; she should be sorry to think this was to be the end of their long talks and discussions, pacing the deck, or watching the moonlight upon the sea, on warm nights, as they leaned over the bulwarks.
Quintin Ferrars also she had grown to know, and to like better. That is to say, she liked some parts of him better and disliked other parts less, recognized his ability and made more allowances for his cynicism, as all women do for the cynicism of a man who is never cynical at their expense. Conversation with him stimulated thought; and, though it generally roused opposition, left something behind it to be pondered over and re-discussed with that other self which only makes itself heard very often when both speakers are silent.
Mrs. Courtly Grace admired and liked more and more. She had expected to find the gracious little lady too much of "a man's woman" to take much thought for her, an English girl. They could have but a small community of interest, she thought; and "men's women" were, as a rule, distasteful to her. But, whatever her faults might be, Mrs. Courtly, she felt sure, was a really kind woman; and, moreover, so appreciative, so amusing, and so many-sided, that Grace found it impossible to resist her charm. What a blessed gift (taking too low a stand among the virtues—indeed, not regarded as a virtue at all by some) is tact! Mrs. Courtly possessed it in a conspicuous degree. She never said anything to wound the susceptibilities of her audience; whereas Mrs. Van Winkle, clever as she was, never seemed to have any perception of when she might, with impunity, astonish her audience, and when it would be wiser to sacrifice that keen but momentary enjoyment. Vanity, and a desire to maintain her reputation for audacious wit, rendered her case-hardened against shocked looks. She said to Grace,
"You know, the very last person with whom one should be seen in New York society is one's husband. Now, I started very badly; I began married life by being really in love with mine, and, socially, it nearly ruined me. It has taken me fifteen years to live it down, and I am only just recovering from the fatal mistake I made."
The girl knew exactly what value to attach to such utterances as these. She never gratified the speaker by looking surprised.
Grace stood on the deck with Saul Barham as the Teutonic slowly, almost imperceptibly, neared the landing-wharf. A thick fog had shrouded the great Statue of Liberty, the shores of New Jersey, Staten Island, and all the features of the beautiful sea-avenue to New York.
"I am angry," said Barham, "that you should not have a better impression of the city on landing. It is too bad to have a fog here to greet you that is worthy of London."
"A delicate attention on the part of America to make us Britishers feel 'at home.'"