Star stopped short and looked up at him in surprise.
“How strange!” she exclaimed.
“Rather,” Mr. Rosevelt returned; then asked: “How did you come by your middle name?”
“My grandmother gave it to me.”
“Was her name Rosevelt?”
“No; her maiden name was Stella Winthrop.”
Mr. Rosevelt started, then turned suddenly to look out over the sea, and to hide the pallor of his face. He asked no more questions, and all through breakfast he appeared absent-minded and taciturn. He scarcely spoke to Star during the meal—indeed, hardly noticed her at all—and she wondered if she could have offended him in any way.
Before she was half through he left the table, and she saw no more of him until late in the afternoon.
About three o’clock she left the saloon, where she had been trying to while away the time by reading, and went on deck.
It was very cold, but the sky was cloudless, the sea calm and beautiful, and, save an occasional call and response from the sailors, the distant thud of the machinery, and the swash of the water as they plowed the sea, there was scarcely a sound on board the vessel.