“Hallo,” exclaimed the captain, “there seems to be a row back there. I wonder what it is?”
“Oh, nothing serious, I imagine. Probably some steerage passengers have come on the cabin deck. I heard them having a row with some one to-day on that score. Let’s walk away from it.”
The captain took my arm, and we strolled along the deck while he gave me a great deal of valuable information about Mexico and the state of things along the border line, which I regret to say I cannot remember a word of. The impressions of a man who has been on the spot are always worth hearing, but my ears were strained to catch a repetition of the angry cry I had heard, or the continuation of the quarrel which it certainly seemed to be the beginning of. As we came up the deck again we met young Howard with the shawl still on his arm and Mrs. Tremain walking beside him. She was laughing in a somewhat hysterical manner, and his face was as pale as ashes with a drawn look about the corners of his lips, but the captain’s eyes were only on his wife.
“Why don’t you put on the shawl, my dear?” he said to her affectionately. “The shawl?” she answered. Then, seeing it on young Howard’s arm, she laughed, and said, “He never offered it to me.”
Young Howard made haste to place the shawl on her shoulders, which she arranged around herself in a very coquettish and charming way. Then she took her husband’s arm.
“Good night,” she said to me; “good night, and thanks, Mr. Howard.”
“Good night,” said the captain; “I will tell you more about that mine to-morrow.”
We watched them disappear towards the companion-way. I drew young Howard towards the side of the boat.
“What happened?” I asked eagerly. “Did you have trouble?”
“Very nearly, I made a slip of the tongue. I called her Mrs. Glendenning.”