"You will have to go!" he insisted. "Before we land I shall speak to your aunt about it."
He had paused by her seat with the intention of resuming his saunter as soon as civility permitted, but her presence was subversive of the intention. He sat down beside her as he had done the previous evening. But now it was inevitable that they should speak of other subjects than infidelity and death. The sky was blue, and the white deck glistened in the sunshine. The sea before them tumbled cheerfully, and to right and left were groups of passengers laughing, flirting, doing fancy-work, or reading novels.
"You haven't told me how it was you came to the States?" she said presently; "were you in New York all the time?"
Heriot did not answer, and she waited with surprise.
"I'll tell you, if you wish," he said hastily. "I came out half meaning to marry."
"Oh!" she said, as if he had struck her.
"I thought I might be happier married. The lady and her mother were going to New York, and I travelled with them. I—I was mistaken in myself."
They were not looking at each other any longer, and her voice trembled a little as she replied:
"You weren't fond enough of her?"
"No," he said. "I shall never marry again; I told you so last night."