But our heroine had not been on shipboard three days without finding out the name of this important fellow passenger.
Her father had discovered it early and communicated it briefly, saying:
“Do not recognize him when he comes on deck. If he addresses you, pretend perfect forgetfulness of him and the past.”
“You may be sure I will do so,” with a lightning gleam of pride in the soft, dark eyes, and a swift rush of color to the round cheek.
But a moment later she asked, almost inaudibly:
“His wife—does she accompany him?”
“No, he is alone.”
When Laurier saw her in the broad glare of daylight he perceived that her likeness to the dead Jessie Lyndon was more startling even than it had seemed last night—it might have been Jessie herself with the additional charm of eighteen over sixteen added to two years of cultivation, and all the advantages of a rich and becoming dress.
But when he passed close by her as she lounged in her chair her calm glance swept over him like the veriest stranger’s, while the color rose in her cheek at his admiring glance.
It was quite useless for him to seek an introduction. No one dared penetrate their chill reserve but the captain, and he refused Laurier’s request regretfully, saying that the Lyndons were very offish and did not care to know people.