“It was a dream,” she said, “that set me off. I thought I was at home. Then it was so strange to wake up and find myself not in a large, cheerful apartment, but ‘cabined, cribbed, confined.’ The room, though the best on the ship, is still small enough and dark, too, for we were near the dock, weren’t we, and there were things against the windows. Then wandering about and seeing the preparations made for our departure was stranger still. ’Steban, what a tremendous mail came on board. I counted the bags. It was so queer to see the men carrying them on their shoulders, and dropping them down that hole under the floor in the dining-saloon. Then the passengers arrived,—what a motley crew!—some in rags, some in velvet gowns. I pitied the steerage people, some of them looked so ill. I gave my travelling rug to an old Irishwoman. I shall not need it, the weather is so warm.”
“You should not have done that,” he said, between his closed teeth. “Why did you not tell me about your Irish acquaintance? I would have given her a blanket,—a thing better suited to her condition in life than an expensive, fur-lined rug. And what will you do on chilly evenings?”
“I will take the blanket,” she said, menacingly. “Are you trying to scold me?”
“Yes,” he said, helplessly, “I am trying, but it is a dead failure. Whatever I may do in the future, now, at least, I could not utter a harsh word to you to save my life.”
“You never did scold me much,” she said, flatteringly. “You were only obstinate, and wouldn’t tell me things. You are better now, and I am sorry I was so thoughtless to-day.”
She was rambling about the room now in her usual restless fashion. The supper had been disposed of, and she was in search of some other entertainment. Her husband suddenly threw an arm around her as she passed him. Then she was placed on his knee, his pipe was laid on the table, and both her hands were grasped firmly in his.
Nina pouted visibly, for she saw that she was about to be favoured with one of his now frequent avowals of intense, repressed affection.
“I have not had you in my arms all day,” he murmured, with slow, passionate kisses. “You have taken no more notice of me than if I were a table or a chair. Of all disappointing, will-o’-the-wisp, elusive works of creation, commend me to a girl in her teens.”
“I have spoken to you six times, and made ten faces at you,” said Nina, reproachfully, and rolling her head from side to side on his broad breast to dodge an impending caress that came relentless, unavoidable as fate. “If you dare to kiss me again, I shall not speak to you for a week,” she said, warningly, as she struggled into a more dignified position; and he did not, although he muttered something grumblingly to the effect that she was a little bold, cruel thing.
Nina retired to a corner of the room, where she sat for some time evidently pondering some weighty matter. Suddenly she burst out with a remark: “’Steban, you are getting to be more obedient now. Why is it?”