“Why, Chris Hartley!” she cried, and standing stock-still from sheer surprise. At the sound of the cheery voice, a lady, who was so fortunate as to have a deck state-room, and so unfortunate as to sorely need it, peered out and tried to smile a good-morning to the happy little stranger outside her window. Marie-Celeste smiled back again, but at the sight of the white face realized in a flash why some people keep their state-rooms at sea in the early morning. But of course there was only the merest little suggestion of a sympathetic thought to spend on the poor, white lady, with Chris Hartley but just discovered, and after that one instant of transfixed surprise she sped toward him, both hands extended; and over the gate that divides the first from the second cabin they indulged in the heartiest shaking of hands possible, while hats for the moment were expected to look out for themselves. Indeed, there is no telling how long the hand-shaking might have lasted but that the hats proved untrustworthy in the stiff northern wind that was blowing, Chris catching his on the fly and Marie-Celeste's saved almost as narrowly.
“Did you know we were on board, Chris?” were the first words that formed themselves into a sentence after the “Well, well, well!” of their first meeting.
“Of course I knew, and so I chose this steamer on purpose.”
“Who told you, Chris? You know I haven't seen you since the day you brought the English letter.”
“Bridget told me the next morning how that you had had a letter that was going to take you all to England, and then in a day or two I learned you were going on the Majestic, and I hurried right over to the office and secured the last berth they had left in the second cabin. But now I'm here I'm thinking I'll not see much of you, after all,” and Chris looked decidedly crestfallen.
“Why not, I should like to know?”
Chris glanced significantly at the gate between them.
“Oh!” beginning to understand; “don't they allow that to be opened?”
“No, they don't,” and Chris colored up a little in spite of himself; “but of course it's all right. I couldn't afford to travel first class, and I don't belong there anyway.”
“But you could easily get over that little gate,” said Marie-Celeste mischievously, and yet soberly too, for she foresaw what innumerable good times would be interfered with if Chris must stay in one place and she in another.