“It is not the stage, surely?” looking at her perfect beauty with a sudden start.

“No, no! it is not that.  You cannot guess.  I may as well tell you.  I will begin at the beginning, and you will see that I could not help it:  that is—­For Mercy’s sake don’t look at me as if I were a criminal, or I won’t say another word!”

“Nonsense, Eleanor!  I am not looking at you as if you were a criminal.  Go on and tell me.”

“It is too late now,” she said hastily:  “I have been here so long already.  I will see you to-morrow.”

“If you dare to go without making a full confession, I will never forgive you.  Sit down:  the sooner it is over the more composed you will feel.  I have been so anxious to hear about it!”

“Well, if it must be.  I know you will be disgusted.  I have to begin when we left here.”

“I have plenty of time to listen.”

“You remember we started on the voyage by ourselves.  At our first dinner on board aunt recognized an old friend, a Mrs. Kenderdine, who was also crossing, together with her son.  That first dinner was our last for some time, for, though we tried to be as strong-minded as possible, in the end we were obliged to stay in our cabins.  Having recovered sooner than aunt, one day I stumbled out as far as the companion-way, and was sitting there very disconsolately when Mr. Kenderdine, passing by, stopped to ask if he should assist me on deck.  Of course I was only too glad to go.  He had not been sick at all, and could walk about quite easily, which gave me a high opinion of his abilities.  Later he brought me my dinner, with a glass of wine, of which he did not spill a drop, and by evening I found that with the aid of his arm I could promenade.

“That day was a sample of all until the voyage was over, for if I attempted to move alone I stumbled, rolled and behaved with a lack of dignity that was frightful; and yet, after getting a taste of fresh air, I could not bear to stay below.  Somehow, it became understood that each morning Mr. Kenderdine might find me in the companion-way at a certain hour; and as aunt would not leave her state-room, and old Mrs. Kenderdine could not, we had nothing to do but to try and amuse each other; so we ended by becoming pretty well acquainted by the time we arrived at Queenstown.

“In England aunt was very busy.  You used to think her a student here:  I wish you could have seen her there.  For six months she spent almost every hour of daylight in the library of the British Museum, where she had been introduced by a learned friend.  Aunt Will has a wonderful admiration for Boadicea:  she was also critically examining the history of Queen Henrietta and of Elizabeth.  She thinks the latter did not do justice to her opportunities, and that her vanity was the mark of a feeble mind.  You know aunt has no patience with vanity and—­”

“But about yourself, Eleanor?”