Bluebell / A Novel

by Mrs. G. C. Huddleston

Then she found her way on deck, where most of the passengers were congregated, and, sitting down on a centre bench, in rather inconvenient proximity to a skylight, was sufficiently amused in speculating on her fellow travellers.

"My comrade can't be among them," she thought, "for she has left her hat below."

Most noticeable were a young officer and his bride, as Bluebell immediately decided the latter to be, partly from her helpless exigeante demeanour, and partly from the extreme newness of her fashionable get up.

The minuteness and height of her heels were more conducive to the Grecian bend than preserving a balance on a sloping deck, and her fanciful aquatic costume of pale-blue serge more adapted to a nautical scene in private theatricals than for contact with the drenching spray of the rough Atlantic.

But ere the anchor weighed she shone pre-eminent, and had the gratification of making a dozen other women feel shabby and dissatisfied.

In contrast to these was a sickly-looking, middle-class person, with two children tastefully arrayed in purple frocks, red stockings, and magenta comforters. They were clinging to a coarse-looking girl, also with a preference for cheerfulness of hue, who carried a felt donkey, and seemed to be the nursery-maid.

The head of this household, apparently, was not going to accompany them, and, indeed, appeared in rather a more elevated condition than could be wished. He addressed Bluebell, and inquired if her cabin was near his wife's, and, on professing ignorance, said he trusted it might prove so, as "he naturally felt great anxiety at her travelling so lone and unprotected like,"—a slight unsteadiness of gait showing how irreparable was the loss of her legitimate defender. The people around stared and smiled, but he continued to gaze, in a mournful and approving way, at Bluebell, while his wife sat in a state of repressed endurance, calculating how many more minutes he would have for exposing himself before the tug separated friends from passengers.

After a playful feint to throw one of his children overboard, he became calmer, and relapsed into a maudlin monologue till the bell rang, when he was hustled off, much to Bluebell's relief as well as his wife's, whose set mouth relaxed as if a care had rolled away.

Two or three officers on leave were pacing up and down, and with them another young man, but, whether he were civil or military, Bluebell could not decide. He was not exactly like either; there was a slight oddness about his dress, which, though well cut, was carelessly put on, and rather incongruous in different parts. The neck-tie was a little awry, and not the right colour for the coat; still he seemed gentlemanly—rather distinguished-looking than not.

These were all the portraits she took in till the bell rang for luncheon, and there was a general desertion of the deck. Being, by this time, very hungry, Bluebell followed in the string, but felt dubious where to seat herself, as she found people had already appropriated their places by pinning their cards on the table-cloth.