Part 2--Chapter XIX.

Katrine came slowly up the companion-way, and looked around the deck in search of her labelled chair. It was ten o'clock in the morning, and the sun was blazing out of a cloudless sky. Yesterday in Marseilles it had been grey and chill. The only cheerful thing had been Grizel's face, fresh, pink-cheeked, unashamedly aglow. The secret of her happiness was patent to the most casual eye. Tired men and work-worn women looked at her as she passed, and glowed in sympathy, and from her their glance passed on to the tall man with the deep-set eyes, who walked by her side. Martin's happiness was as great as his wife's, but man-like he was at pains to conceal it. The consciousness of being observed was enough to extinguish his smiles, and Katrine was amusedly conscious that he was making an effort to appear depressed at the prospect of her own departure. The newly-married pair had accompanied her on board the steamer, armed with flowers, with fruit, with scent and bonbons, with cushions and medicines, until the small cabin had been blocked to overflowing, and the passengers who had braved the rigours of the Bay, debated among themselves as to the identity of the handsome girl who had such a luxurious send-off.

Standing on the deck amid the roar and bustle of approaching departure, the three had spoken their farewell words.

"I won't say good-bye," Grizel declared. "_En avant_! Katrine! There's a good time coming!"

But the tears stood in Katrine's eyes. She was leaving the known, the safe, and the sure, and sailing forth into the unknown. Fear seized her, and with it regret.

"If--if I come home soon... You won't be cross if I turn up like a bad penny? You will take me in, until I find some work?"

"My dear girl, you know it! If you are not happy; if you don't want to go, come back with us _now_! Never mind the clothes... We'll arrange all that. You shan't go one step against your will..."

Grizel laid her hand on her husband's arm. Her cool, calm voice was like a tonic, bracing the hearers into composure.

"She is going of her _own_ will, and if _You_ would take her back with you now, _I won't_, so you can choose between us! We're ready for you, Katrine dear, when you've tried it, and grown tired, but not before. I'm just afraid we'll have too long to wait! ... Now smile this minute! Would you leave me stranded on a foreign shore with a lugubrious spouse!"

Then Katrine laughed, and they kissed and embraced, and Grizel slipping her hand through her husband's arm, drew him towards the gangway.

"Belovedest!" she whispered softly. "_I'm here_!" and Katrine looking down from her towering perch watched the lift of the charming face, caught the swift, mutual glance, and realised that no outside anxiety could mar the perfection of that love. She sighed, but the predominant sensation was relief, not pain. A chapter of her life was turned. She thanked God that it closed in sunshine!

And now it was the morning of her first day at sea. Tired after her long overland journey, she had retired to bed while her fellow-passengers were at dinner, and had slept so soundly in her narrow bunk that on waking there had been a moment's blank bewilderment before she could realise her position. A stewardess stood before her bearing the early cup of tea; on the berth opposite a gaunt, grey-haired woman was sitting, cup in hand, staring at her with curious eyes.

"Mornin'!" she said tersely. "First introduction. You were asleep when I turned in last night. Glad you don't snore!"

"Goodness! I never thought of that. How awful!" exclaimed Katrine, laughing in her turn. She sipped at her cup, and grimaced eloquently. "Ugh. What is it? Tea or coffee?"

"Mixed," replied the other gravely. "To suit all tastes."

She drank again with apparent enjoyment. "Always drink it myself out of principle. Charge you too much to leave out a meal... First trip?"

"First time in my life I ever slept in a berth. I'd no idea they were so comfortable."

The grey-haired lady fumbled beneath her pillow, placed a pair of spectacles on her nose, and stared across with frank curiosity.

"Bride?"

"I beg your pardon!"

"Unnecessary, thank you. It's my tenth voyage. Met shoals of brides. You look the type."

Katrine ostentatiously displayed her left hand.

"I hope that's a compliment. As a matter of fact, I am going out to join some friends in North Bengal."

"Missionaries?"

Katrine jumped till the cup rattled in a threatening manner.

"_No_! Cer-tainly not."

"Humph!" said the grey-haired woman, and scraped the sugar from her cup. "I'm sorry for _any_ girl," she announced tentatively between the spoonfuls, "who goes out to one of those lonely plantations... No fun. No chances. Fifty times worse than at home."

"Is that so? Really? I'm sorry!" Katrine shook her head, and endeavoured to look perturbed.

The good sleep, the novelty of the surroundings, the glimpse of blue through the port-hole, combined to produce an exhilarating effect. She felt gay and mischievous, too light-hearted to resent her companion's curiosity, but none the less determined not to gratify it. She ate bread and butter, and sipped at the compound liquor in silence, the while the spectacled eyes continued their scrutiny.

"Odd thing--the Indian climate," continued the stranger in ruminating fashion. "Changes the constitootion. Never know _which_ way you'll go, but it's bound to be one. _You'll_ grow fat!"

That roused Katrine. Her head twisted round, indignant colour stained her cheeks.

"I _shan't_! I shouldn't dream of such a thing... Far more likely--"

"Excuse me--no! I've had experience. Some dwindle to skeletons, but not your build. Niece of mine sailed with me two years ago. Twenty-two-inch waist. Put on a stone in three months. All her bodices altered. Two stones more since then, and a double chin. Looks like her own mother. But of course if you take much exercise... Some of the civil appointments are quite good. If you keep horses, and ride each morning--"

"Just so," assented Katrine. "Just so." She was discomposed by the prospect of obesity, the more so as Dorothea's excessive thinness would seem to confirm the assertion that the climate was extreme in its effects. A moment passed in the earnest consideration of the disadvantages of fat _versus_ lean, then the grey-haired one plunged boldly into autobiography:

"My husband was a judge. Mannering. Bombay. Thousand a year pension, but not a penny to leave behind. No use any one making up to _me_! Got a boy in the Indian Cavalry. Going out now to pay him a call. Nice boy. Was, at least, when I saw him last. May have changed, of course."

Katrine's looks became suddenly infused with interest.

"Then our destinations are not far apart. Do you know--have you any friends in the--Regiment?"

"Not--one--soul!" said the stranger emphatically, and in a manner which seemed to imply that nothing would induce her to consent to such an entanglement. She hunched up the pillows behind her back, and continued forcibly. "Detest the military. Always did. Quite against my wishes that the boy went in; but there I am--silly fool! proud as any one of 'em, when I see him dressed up... Stinting myself for his gold lace! Well, well, we're all fools at heart, my dear, every man jack of us, and women too... When are you going to take your bath?"

The catechism was over for the moment. Katrine staggered out of bed, robed herself in a dainty blue dressing-gown and smoothed her dark locks, uneasily conscious that not a ribbon, a lace, or a French knot itself escaped the scrutiny of the watching eyes. When she returned, fresh and rosy, her companion departed in her turn, and returned just as Katrine was finishing her hair in time to announce briskly:

"Warm sunny day! Seen three girls in white frocks. Sport one yourself, and cut 'em out! Great thing to make a good impression!"

"I don't care,"--began Katrine haughtily, then the spirit of the hour choked the words in her throat. "Yes, after all, I _do_!" she laughed, and kneeling before her cabin trunk lifted a fresh white frock from the tray. "I'll put on this, and do credit to our cabin!"

"Cheers!" cried the stranger, and with a pleasing frankness extracted her false teeth.

Katrine mounted the steps to the deck. There was still half an hour to spare before breakfast, but she wished it had been twice as long, as she paced slowly down the shining deck, and tasted for the first time the deep salt brine of the breeze. Only fifteen hours before she had shivered in rain and chill; now the sun was shining out of a cloudless sky, and the breeze was warm and sweet. The exhilaration of it all! The great vessel in its shining order, the air, the spray, the lap of the great green flood, the kaleidoscopic procession of passengers, strolling like herself, bareheaded, white-robed, revelling in the first taste of heat after the Northern cold!

Katrine was loath to tear herself away from the fascinating scene, but the duty of interviewing the steward lay before her. She descended, armed with a golden key, proffered her request, and met with a gracious consent.

Nothing could be easier. A party of three were landing at Port Said; Miss Beverley could be given a place at the same table, and Captain Bedford could also be accommodated on arrival.

So far so good! Katrine ate her breakfast with an enjoyment heightened by her fast of the night before, came to the conclusion that she should not grieve over the departure of the Port Said trio, and armed with a book and a sunshade, mounted once more to the deck.

The first business was to find her chair, and a difficult search it promised to be. She was wandering aimlessly to and fro reading the names attached to the backs of the serried rows, when a voice spoke in her ear:

"Can I help?" it asked. "You are looking for a chair, I think. If you give me the name, I'd be delighted to find it for you."

The speaker was a tall, strikingly handsome man of some twenty-four or five years. Katrine had noticed him at an adjacent table during the lengthy breakfast; had also been conscious that he had noticed herself. She expressed her thanks, and in an incredibly short time the chair was produced, and placed in a comfortable position.

"May I bring mine alongside?" enquired the stranger, and Katrine bowed assent. She had anticipated the request, and was gratified thereby. On shipboard one need not trouble about conventional introductions, and it would be agreeable to have a companion who knew the ropes, and who could enliven the morning with agreeable tit-bits of information concerning her fellow-travellers.

She smiled therefore at the handsome fellow in her most friendly manner; whereupon he smiled back, and glibly burst into autobiography:

"Austin Murray is my name, England is my nation, Engineering is my game, Bombay my destination."

"Thanks very much," returned Katrine gravely. "Katherine Beverley is my name--"

"Any relation to the author chap who robbed that poor girl of her cash?"

"I am!"

The terse affirmative had a disturbing effect on Mr Murray's composure. He had evidently not expected it, and had the grace to look confused.

"I say, you know, I didn't know... 'Pologise! Didn't really mean it like that!" He pondered, and pondering was struck with a brilliant inspiration. "I _say_! The couple who came on board with you yesterday! You don't mean to say--"

"I didn't mean to say," corrected Katrine calmly, "but yes! you have guessed correctly. That was my brother and his wife!"

"_Brother_!" Mr Murray whistled softly, but made no attempt to apologise a second time. Katrine diagnosed him as being little in the habit of eating humble pie.

"I _say_," he exclaimed once more, "if a girl like that gave up all that for _me_, I should be ruined for life! Bowled over! Eaten up with conceit. She's a corker! _Isn't_ she a corker, now?"

"She is generally considered to be excessively--corking!" agreed Katrine demurely, and then suddenly she laughed; a gay, light-hearted laugh. What a change it was! To sit on this wide shining deck among a crowd of strangers, to exchange frivolities with one of the handsomest of men, also a stranger, to feel the sun beat on her neck, on her outstretched feet, to have nothing to do, and nothing to care for, but her own ease and enjoyment! She laughed, leaning her head against the back of her chair; the sun flecked her hair with gold, the clear healthy tints of her skin seemed to gain in colour in the dancing light. Mr Murray hitched his chair a degree nearer, and spoke in a lower voice:

"I say... You don't know any one on board?"

"Not yet. No."

"How would it be if--what would you say to fixing up a steamship flirtation?"

Katrine straightened herself with a jerk.

"I _beg_ your pardon! I don't quite understand--"

"Oh, it's simple enough. Always do it myself on a long voyage. Much more satisfactory and amusin' than just trustin' to luck... Spot some one you like, and agree to sit together on deck, be partners at sports, moon about,--_under_ the moon!--confide your woes, comfort and soothe, sentimentalise a bit--especially towards the end--"

Katrine threw him a glance, beneath lids haughtily dropped.

"Tha-anks. It sounds very interesting. And then--?"

"Oh, then?" Mr Murray twisted his moustache. "Then--you're there, you know, and er--you say good-bye!"

"Very interesting!" commented Katrine once more, "but I'm afraid I can't play. The idea doesn't thrill me, and besides I have a--friend coming on board at Port Said, who will naturally expect some attention."

"Rotten luck!" sighed Mr Murray, and for sixty seconds on end looked seriously downcast. "But of course," he added thoughtfully, "if it were only to Port Said--"

"Just so. It would be a pity to break the continuity of your scheme. You have had quite a long voyage already. How is it that you have not already--" Katrine stopped short, as an expression of discomfiture flitted over the handsome face, and altered the character of her enquiry. "May I ask how _many_ others you have asked before me?"

"Not--many!" stammered Mr Murray ingenuously. His gaze wandered uneasily round the deck, and Katrine's following his, met a pair of mischievous brown eyes set in a plump girlish face. The eyes were fixed upon herself with an expression of such interest and curiosity as told its own tale, and Katrine hastily lowered her white umbrella. Simultaneously the plump girl lowered her own, but it shook! Austin Murray, looking from one wobbling frame to the other, chewed his moustache in disgust.

"Perhaps," he explained stiffly, "I am too ambitious. One needs must love the highest... There are, of course, a dozen girls who would be only too glad--"

"Then," said Katrine hastily, "pray lose no time in securing one of the number. If you don't, they may be snapped up. Don't let me detain--"

Mr Murray leaped from his seat, bowed deeply, and walked rapidly away. To the end of the voyage he kept sedulously out of Katrine's way.

Katrine lay contentedly in her chair luxuriating in the sun and the breeze, and lazily studying the passers-by. As usual under the circumstances she dubbed the passengers dull and uninteresting. Further acquaintance might reveal hidden fascinations, but for the present she failed to discover any of the types for which she looked. The fascinating grass widow playing havoc with other hearts, while keeping her own serenely untouched; the beauteous maids sailing forth to conquer new worlds, the purple-faced and choleric colonels; the flock of interesting, unattached males!--where had they all disappeared? She saw before her a company for the most part staid and middle-aged, bearing the chastened air of the outward bound; the sprinkling of youngsters were of very ordinary attractions, the flock of children, fascinating for an hour, but becoming painfully in evidence as the day wore on. Only one figure arrested her attention, and that from a reason more painful than pleasant. He was a man approaching middle-age, with a finely-hewn face, on which consumption had deeply hewn its mark. He paced the deck wrapped in an old Inverness cape, and at intervals leaned coughing over the rail. So far as Katrine's observation went, he spoke to nobody, and nobody spoke to him. Her heart softened at his air of suffering, and she determined that if fate threw him in her way, she would open an acquaintance.

After tea the grey-haired Mrs Mannering joined her room-mate for a promenade round the deck, and treated her to staccato items of information.

"Sticky lot! Always are on these boats. Thank goodness there are very few soldiers on board. When there are, it's worse than ever. Cavalry cuts Infantry, Infantry snubs civilians. Civil servants bar trade. So you go on! Don't trouble _me_. I know too much about 'em!" She gave a quick, keen glance. "Like scandal?"

"Thank you, no! I hate it."

"Quite right, too. At your age. I don't mind telling you that it's the breath of my nostrils. No pretence about me. What I think I _say_! Give me a good, spicy divorce..."

Katrine quickened her pace, eyelids drooped, corners of lips turned down. Never in all her twenty-six years had she listened to such a sentiment. Horror seized her at the idea of being shut up in close quarters with a woman of degraded tastes. Would it be possible to change cabins?

"Bless you, my lamb. _I_ won't sully your little mind!"

The kind, motherly voice spoke in such apt response to the inner thought, that Katrine jumped in her skin. She turned, rosy and shy, half-angry, half-ashamed, and saw a wrinkled hand held out towards her.

"There! That's agreed--I like you. Right sort of girl. Don't you worry! You might do a lot worse than have old Nance Mannering as a companion. I've lived east of Suez too long not to be able to adapt myself to my company. You'll get no contamination from me, and what's more, I'll protect you from getting it elsewhere. You have a word with me, my dear, before you take up with any of these boys, and I'll put you on your guard. Poor lot, most of them; drinking and gambling..."

"I don't think I shall `take up' with any one, thank you. A fellow-officer of my host in India is to join the ship at Port Said, and will look after me for the rest of the voyage. He is not a very young man, but I'm told he is nice. I expect to enjoy his society. There's only one man I've seen on board who interests me at all. The one with the cape, who looks so ill."

"Vernon Keith. Artist. Rather a big wig in his way, or promised to be, a year or two since. Consumption of course,--_and_ his own folly! Going this voyage for health, if it please you! The mad folly of doctors to allow a man in that condition to start out on such a crack-brained expedition, mewed up among hundreds of people, scattering poison wherever he goes! Sea air is all very well, but what about the smoke-room, eh? What about the bars? Temptation waiting on every hand, and no one to say him nay. The passengers steer clear of him, and no wonder. By ten o'clock at night--"

"Perhaps," said Katrine quickly, "if people did _not_ steer clear, things might be different. _I_ shan't, if I get the chance. He is ill and weak, and I'm sure he is sad. He looked _miserable_ this morning, pacing up and down alone. Isn't it rather Pharisaical to stand aside because a man is ill, and--weak?"

The spectacled eyes twinkled humorously.

"Well, well, he'll be pleased enough, no doubt, but don't be too kind, and raise expectations which can't be fulfilled! Port Said's ahead--and the nice man!"

"And--Jim!" added Katrine softly to herself. When the dusk fell, she stood for an hour leaning over the rail, watching the phosphorescent glow on the darkened waves, sending out wistful, timorous thoughts toward that meeting which was growing momentarily nearer. "Jim!"