Yet Margarita da Cordova was a brave woman, and had lately been called a heroine because she had gone on singing after that explosion till the people were quiet again; and Margaret Donne was a sensible girl, justly confident of being able to take care of herself where men were concerned.  She stood still and wondered what there was about Mr. Van Torp that could frighten her so dreadfully.

After a little while she went quietly back to her chair, and sat down between Griggs and Miss More.  The elderly man rose and packed her neatly in her plaid, and she thanked him.  Miss More looked at her and smiled vaguely, as even the most intelligent people do sometimes.  Then Griggs got into his own chair again and took up his book.

‘Was that right of me?’ he asked presently, so low that Miss More did not hear him speak.

‘Yes,’ Margaret answered, under her breath, ’but don’t let me do it again, please.’

They both began to read, but after a time Margaret spoke to him again without turning her eyes.

‘He wanted to ask me about that girl who died at the theatre,’ she said, just audibly.

‘Oh—­yes!’

Griggs seemed so vague that Margaret glanced at him.  He was looking at the inside of his right hand in a meditative way, as if it recalled something.  If he had shown more interest in what she said she would have told him what she had just learned, about the breaking off of the engagement, but he was evidently absorbed in thought, while he slowly rubbed that particular spot on his hand, and looked at it again and again as if it recalled something.

Margaret did not resent his indifference, for he was much more than old enough to be her father; he was a man whom all younger writers looked upon as a veteran, he had always been most kind and courteous to her when she had met him, and she freely conceded him the right to be occupied with his own thoughts and not with hers.  With him she was always Margaret Donne, and he seldom talked to her about music, or of her own work.  Indeed, he so rarely mentioned music that she fancied he did not really care for it, and she wondered why he was so often in the house when she sang.

Mr. Van Torp did not show himself at luncheon, and Margaret began to hope that he would not appear on deck again till the next day.  In the afternoon the wind dropped, the clouds broke, and the sun shone brightly.  Little Ida, who was tired of doing crochet work, and had looked at all the books that had pictures, came and begged Margaret to walk round the ship with her.  It would please her small child’s vanity to show everybody that the great singer was willing to be seen walking up and down with her, although she was quite deaf, and could not hope ever to hear music.  It was her greatest delight to be treated before every one as if she were just like other girls, and her cleverness in watching the lips of the person with her, without seeming too intent, was wonderful.