201 "Yes," he went on, ramming tobacco into his pipe, hardly conscious of what he was doing.
"You remember that I told you I always went with the tide. Well, three weeks ago it washed me up in London, and now it's washing me off again. I'm going to Italy."
"Oh—what for?" She asked the question without expression.
He shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't know; nothing in particular. I've been before, of course. I'm just going to take a stick and a knapsack, and walk around the country, sleep anywhere—eat anything—and enjoy myself."
"I wish I could come with you." The words broke from her with a little cry, and Feathers raised his eyes at last.
He saw the pallor of her face and the distress in her eyes, and his heart began to race, but he only said very quietly: "You'd soon get tired of living my Bohemian life. When you go to Italy Chris will take you, and you must do the thing properly."
She seemed hardly to hear. She went on passionately: "It seems as if I must lose all my friends. It isn't fair! First there was Mr. Atkins, and now . . ."
"Atkins!" said Feathers sharply.
"Yes." She laughed recklessly. "He went away because . . . oh, I suppose I ought not to tell you, really, but I know you think that nobody cares for me—because I'm so uninteresting, but he did—he was only a boy, but he was really fond of me—and so . . . so I sent him away! And now you are going, too! . . . I wish I could die!" said Marie Celeste, in a tragic whisper.