6
Late that night Betty sat in her tiny stateroom, indulging rebellious thoughts. It was time, after an awkwardly silent evening, to go to bed. But instead she now slipped into her heavy traveling coat, pulled on her tam-o'-shanter, tiptoed past the Hasmers' door and went out on deck.
It was dim and peaceful there. The throb of the engines and the wash of water along the hull were the only sounds. They were in the strait now, heading out to sea.
She walked around the deck, and around. It was her first free moment since they left the Pacific ship at Yokohama. After that very quietly—sweetly, even—the chaperonage of Mrs. Hasmer had tightened. For Betty the experience was new and difficult. She felt that she ought to submit. But the rebellion in her breast, if wrong, was real. She would walk it off.
Then she met Mr. Brachey coming out of the smoking-room. Both stopped.
“Oh!” said he.
“I was just getting a breath of air,” said she.
Then they moved to the rail and leaned there, gazing off at the faintly moonlit land.
He asked, in his cold way, how she had learned Chinese.
“I was born at T'ainan-fu,” she explained. “My father is a missionary.”