“You go straight to your new steamer, I believe?” he went on, forcing the conversation.
“Yes. And you?”
“I drift into a hotel for a couple of days.”
“And I cannot tempt you to visit my poor but proud Patagonia?”
“I fear not.”
“Goodby, Mr. Power.”
She shook hands with him hurriedly, and joined the crush of passengers in the gangway. She moved with the easy grace of one who lived much in the open air. For the hundredth time she reminded him of Nancy. He sighed. At last his seven years’ pilgrimage had really begun!