you like me to send Mr. March, if I see him?" he
asked, as if he did not know on what other terms to get away.

"Do, please!" she entreated, and it seemed to her that he had hardly
left her when her husband came up. "Why, where in the world did he find
you so soon?"

"Did you send him for me? I was just hanging round for him to go." March
sank into the chair at her side. "Well, is he going to marry her?"

"Oh, you may laugh! But there is something very exciting!" She told him
what had happened, and of her belief that Burnamy's handsome behavior
had somehow not been met in kind.

March gave himself the pleasure of an immense laugh. "It seems to me
that this Mr. Burnamy of yours wanted a little more gratitude than he
was entitled to. Why shouldn't he have offered him the lower berth? And
why shouldn't the old gentleman have taken it just as he did? Did you
want him to make a counteroffer of his daughter's hand? If he does, I
hope Mr. Burnamy won't come for your advice till after he's accepted
her."

"He wasn't very candid. I hoped you would speak about that. Don't you
think it was rather natural, though?"

"For him, very likely. But I think you would call it sinuous in some one
you hadn't taken a fancy to."

"No, no. I wish to be just. I don't see how he could have come straight
at it. And he did own up at last." She asked him what Burnamy had done
for the magazine, and he could remember nothing but that one small poem,
yet unprinted; he was rather vague about its value, but said it had
temperament.

"He has temperament, too," she commented, and she had made him tell her
everything he knew, or could be forced to imagine about Burnamy, before
she let the talk turn to other things.

The life of the promenade had already settled into seafaring form; the
steamer chairs were full, and people were reading or dozing in them
with an effect of long habit. Those who would be walking up and down had
begun their walks; some had begun going in and out of the smoking-room;
ladies who were easily affected by the motion were lying down in the
music-room. Groups of both sexes were standing at intervals along the
rail, and the promenaders were obliged to double on a briefer course or
work slowly round them. Shuffleboard parties at one point and ring-toss
parties at another were forming among the young people. It was as lively
and it was as dull as it would be two thousand miles at sea. It was not
the least cooler, yet; but if y