d reached its height and was about to subside. I
did not really believe that I was likely to find out anything of
value by stopping in an hotel at Montreal or travelling in a train
to Vancouver. But I was tired of London and thought the trip might be
pleasant. I went to Canada by way of New York, partly because the big
Cunarders are comfortable steamers, partly because I find New York an
agreeable city. I have several friends there and I like the life of the
place--for a fortnight at a time. I do not know whether I should like it
for a longer time because I have never had money enough to live in New
York for more than a fortnight. As a regular place of residence it might
be too stimulating for me; but I shall probably never know how I should
feel about it at the end of six weeks.

It was Gorman who took the initiative on board the steamer. I do not
think that I should ever have made his acquaintance if he had not
forced himself on me. He accosted me, introduced himself, carried the
acquaintance through to an intimacy by sheer force of personality, and
ended by inducing me to like him. He began his attack on me during that
very uncomfortable time just before the ship actually starts. It is
never possible to settle down to the ordinary routine of life at sea
until the screw begins to revolve. There is an hour or two, after the
passengers have embarked, which is disquieting and fussy. Mail bags, so
I understand, are being put on board. Stewards, carrying cabin trunks,
swarm in the corridors. Passengers wander restlessly about or hurry,
with futile energy, from place to place. Pushing men hustle each other
at the windows of the purser's office, under pretence of expecting
letters or despatching telegrams. Women passengers eye other women
passengers with suspicion and distrust. It is very interesting to notice
how people who scowl at each other on the first day of a voyage exchange
cards and promise to pay each other visits after six days as fellow
travellers. At the end of another six days--such is the usual
unfortunate experience--the cards are lost and the promises forgotten.
A poet and, following him, a novelist have compared human intercourse to
the "speaking" of ships that pass in the night. They would have found a
more forcible, though perhaps less poetic, illustration of their idea
in the friendships formed by passengers in the same steamer. They are
intimate, but they are as a rule utterly transitory. However I have