When
I sat with her on deck at night, I seemed to feel Boyd Madras's face
looking at me from the half-darkness of the after-deck; and Mrs.
Falchion, whose keen eyes missed little, remarked once on my gaze in that
direction. Thereafter I was more careful, but the idea haunted me. Yet, I
was not the only person who sat with her. Other men paid her attentive
court. The difference was, however, that with me she assumed ever so
delicate, yet palpable an air of proprietorship, none the less alluring
because there was no heart in it. So far as the other passengers were
concerned, there was nothing jarring to propriety in our companionship.
They did not know of Number 116 Intermediate. She had been announced as a
widow; and she had told Mrs. Callendar that her father's brother, who,
years before, had gone to California, had died within the past two years
and left her his property; and, because all Californians are supposed to
be millionaires, her wealth was counted fabulous. She was going now to
England, and from there to California in the following year. People said
that Dr. Marmion knew on which side his bread was buttered.
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