The girl turned. The last faint trace of Liberty had faded; she might just as well admit that, and give her attention to the novelties of ship-board life. She looked curiously down the long white deck. Passengers were appearing every moment, clad in ulsters and soft hats; the deck steward was hurrying to and fro adjusting steamer chairs and wraps. The voyage had undoubtedly begun.
Suddenly the line of her vision was interrupted by a tall man in a rough tweed cap. And then she noticed that he had snatched it from his head and was coming toward her with both hands outstretched.
"Isn't it—Cary?" he asked, eagerly.
The girl looked into his eyes. Somewhere in their grave depths a smile was hidden.
"Why, it's Johnny," she cried, delightedly.
"To be sure it's Johnny! And what do you mean by sailing under an English flag?"
She laughed again, showing her perfect teeth.
"Isn't it absurd? But Daddy dragged me into it."
"Which? The Cunarder or the trip?"
"Both. Where in the world have you been all this time, and oh! how's Rob? I declare I've so many questions to ask you I don't know where to begin."