the seventh heaven, and you who have all your life helped with the dinner dishes at home, now gorge yourself in a superior and affluent manner (it costs no more) with the skilled aid of stewards and music. That the journey will end, you do not consider until suddenly it has ended. Life was still like that when Mother and I went away.
As Mother and I, still fellow-travellers, leaned on the ship’s rail watching the other passengers coming aboard and standing about in small talking groups amongst all the exciting weaving sounds of meeting, parting and departing, Mother touched my arm. “Frankie,” she said, “don’t look now, but there’s a woman with a most heavenly profile. Angelic! She’s standing talking to a little old man and one of the ship’sofficers. At least
she’s
not talking, they’re talking to her, and as pleased with themselves as two peacocks. Oh, don’t turn now, she’s looking our way.”
I turned as soon as I thought it safe, and I feel now that before I turned I felt a pricking in my thumbs. Perhaps not. Well, I turned, and by this time the woman had stopped looking in our direction and was again listening to the two men in a way infinitely gentle and pretty. It was Hetty. I gave a little gasp. “What, Frankie?” asked Mother.
“Mother,” I said very quietly, “you won’t believe me, but that’s Mrs. Dorval.”
Mother turned and faced me, all seriousness. “Frankie! You don’t mean that!” She paused. “So
that
is The Menace! Frankie, I can’t believe it. Not
that
girl! She can’t be Mrs. Dorval!”
“She is, Mother. That’s exactly who she is and that’s what she looks like. Do you see now why I couldn’t explain?” I said. “What am I going to do about it?”
“I don’t
think,”
said Mother slowly, “that Mrs. Dorval will come our way. She won’t be interested in two women travelling together, at least a woman and a girl, and it doesn’t matter whether she is or not. But we’ll keep our own counsel, Frankie. Well, I’m amazed! What a peculiar thing …” and Mother went on murmuring diminuendo.
I was rather shaken when we went down to our cabin. Fate was indeed throwing Hetty at us. But perhaps Hetty would not be thrown. We would see. She would do whatever suited her best.
We passed near each other once or twice during the day, but Hetty gave no sign. One would say that she did not see me. Of course, she might not at once know me, but a look at the passenger list, and the word “Lytton,” would recall myname and home. I saw Mrs. Broom, walking alone. But Mrs. Broom was a woman whom one could easily not notice, in contrast to Hetty; and Mrs. Broom was herself an expert at not noticing anyone.
Really to know the ocean, really to know that you are at sea, you must, in the dark, go out and feel the invisible wind and look out into the illimitable night. And perhaps if you look down over the rail you will see bright phosphorus tearing at the ship’s sides. Mother and I went out when it was dark to watch, too, the dwindling twinkling lights of land, each of which has a human significance in that place which it illumines. We could now hardly see the outline of the dark and faintly spangled shore. Many other passengers, leaning in twos and threes, also gazed into the dark. Before long I felt someone move up beside me. This was not accident, this was design. This person knew me, and had moved near to me because she knew me. I felt this, and was aware that she was about to speak. I could not see the face clearly but I knew that the person was Hetty.
“Frankie,” the very soft voice said hurriedly in the dark, “and your Mother? Mrs.… Burnaby? Just one word. Please. I must speak to you tonight. Frankie, you were my friend once … for a little while. I don’t know whether you are now or not. And you, Mrs. Burnaby, I cannot tell … but I think you are kind, and I’m casting myself on your generosity, both of you.” Hetty’s voice, usually indifferent
As Mother and I, still fellow-travellers, leaned on the ship’s rail watching the other passengers coming aboard and standing about in small talking groups amongst all the exciting weaving sounds of meeting, parting and departing, Mother touched my arm. “Frankie,” she said, “don’t look now, but there’s a woman with a most heavenly profile. Angelic! She’s standing talking to a little old man and one of the ship’sofficers. At least
she’s
not talking, they’re talking to her, and as pleased with themselves as two peacocks. Oh, don’t turn now, she’s looking our way.”
I turned as soon as I thought it safe, and I feel now that before I turned I felt a pricking in my thumbs. Perhaps not. Well, I turned, and by this time the woman had stopped looking in our direction and was again listening to the two men in a way infinitely gentle and pretty. It was Hetty. I gave a little gasp. “What, Frankie?” asked Mother.
“Mother,” I said very quietly, “you won’t believe me, but that’s Mrs. Dorval.”
Mother turned and faced me, all seriousness. “Frankie! You don’t mean that!” She paused. “So
that
is The Menace! Frankie, I can’t believe it. Not
that
girl! She can’t be Mrs. Dorval!”
“She is, Mother. That’s exactly who she is and that’s what she looks like. Do you see now why I couldn’t explain?” I said. “What am I going to do about it?”
“I don’t
think,”
said Mother slowly, “that Mrs. Dorval will come our way. She won’t be interested in two women travelling together, at least a woman and a girl, and it doesn’t matter whether she is or not. But we’ll keep our own counsel, Frankie. Well, I’m amazed! What a peculiar thing …” and Mother went on murmuring diminuendo.
I was rather shaken when we went down to our cabin. Fate was indeed throwing Hetty at us. But perhaps Hetty would not be thrown. We would see. She would do whatever suited her best.
We passed near each other once or twice during the day, but Hetty gave no sign. One would say that she did not see me. Of course, she might not at once know me, but a look at the passenger list, and the word “Lytton,” would recall myname and home. I saw Mrs. Broom, walking alone. But Mrs. Broom was a woman whom one could easily not notice, in contrast to Hetty; and Mrs. Broom was herself an expert at not noticing anyone.
Really to know the ocean, really to know that you are at sea, you must, in the dark, go out and feel the invisible wind and look out into the illimitable night. And perhaps if you look down over the rail you will see bright phosphorus tearing at the ship’s sides. Mother and I went out when it was dark to watch, too, the dwindling twinkling lights of land, each of which has a human significance in that place which it illumines. We could now hardly see the outline of the dark and faintly spangled shore. Many other passengers, leaning in twos and threes, also gazed into the dark. Before long I felt someone move up beside me. This was not accident, this was design. This person knew me, and had moved near to me because she knew me. I felt this, and was aware that she was about to speak. I could not see the face clearly but I knew that the person was Hetty.
“Frankie,” the very soft voice said hurriedly in the dark, “and your Mother? Mrs.… Burnaby? Just one word. Please. I must speak to you tonight. Frankie, you were my friend once … for a little while. I don’t know whether you are now or not. And you, Mrs. Burnaby, I cannot tell … but I think you are kind, and I’m casting myself on your generosity, both of you.” Hetty’s voice, usually indifferent
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