Gerald Wyndham sat on deck most of that evening. There was a married lady, a certain Mrs. Harvey, on board, she was going to Australia with her husband and one little girl. She was about thirty, and very delicate. Gerald's face took her fancy, and they struck up an acquaintance.
The evening was so calm, so mild, the water so still, the sky above so clear that the passengers brought wraps and lingered long on deck. Mrs. Harvey talked all the time to Gerald. He answered her not only politely but with interest. She was an interesting woman, she could talk well, she had great sympathy, and she wanted to draw Wyndham out. In this she failed, although she imagined she succeeded. He learned much of her history, for she was very communicative, but when she joined her husband downstairs later that evening she could not tell him a single thing about their fellow-passenger.
"He has a nice face," they both remarked, and they wondered who he was.
It did not occur to them to speak of him as sad-looking. On the contrary, Mrs. Harvey spoke of his cheerful smile and of his strong appreciation of humor.
"It is delightful to meet a man who can see a joke," she said. "Most of them are so dense."
"I wonder which family of Wyndhams he belongs to," remarked the husband.
"I wonder if he is married," added the wife.
Then they both resolved that they would find out to-morrow. But they did not, for the next day Wyndham did not come on deck at all. He stayed in his own cabin, and had one or two interviews with the captain.
"You know very little about me, Captain Jellyby," he said, once.
"I know that you are married to Miss Paget," replied the captain, "and I am given to understand that she is a very charming young lady."