Mrs. Whitcomb's countenance was cynical: "My dear, I've been married twice and I ought to know something about honeymoons, but this honeyless honeymoon——" she cast up her eyes and her hands in despair.
The women were so concerned about Mr. and "Mrs." Mallory, that they hardly noticed the uncomfortable plight of the Wellingtons, or the curious behavior of the lady from the stateroom who seemed to be afraid of something and never spoke to anybody. The strange behavior of Anne Gattle and Ira Lathrop even escaped much comment, though they were forever being stumbled on when anybody went out to the observation platform. When they were dislodged from there, they sat playing checkers and talking very little, but making eyes at one another and sighing like furnaces.
They had evidently concocted some secret of their own, for Ira, looking at his watch, murmured sentimentally to Anne: "Only a few hours more, Annie."
And Anne turned geranium-color and dropped a handful of checkers. "I don't know how I can face it."
Ira growled like a lovesick lion: "Aw, what do you care?"
"But I was never married before, Ira," Anne protested, "and on a train, too."
"Why, all the bridal couples take to the railroads."
"I should think it would be the last place they'd go," said Anne—a sensible woman, Anne! "Look at the Mallories—how miserable they are."
"I thought they were happy," said Ira, whose great virtue it was to pay little heed to what was none of his business.
"Oh, Ira," cried Anne, "I hope we shan't begin to quarrel as soon as we are married."