The booking of the passage had caused considerable discussion.  Aunt Janet had written to the shipping company asking them to reserve a saloon berth by the first mail-boat after a certain date.  That it took nearly all the money she had or was likely to have, as far as she could see, for the rest of her days, did not trouble her in the least.  She could live on nothing, she told herself—­and it was absolutely necessary that Andrew’s child should go away, even though she was going to seek the once-refused charity of a relative, with the maximum of dignity and with flags flying.  But the doctor had a talk with her about it.  He had had three trips as ship’s doctor to Australia on P. and O. steamers, and his imagination reeled at the prospect of Marcella in the average saloon on a long-distance liner.

“You see,” he said, trying hard to be tactful, “if Marcella travels first class she’ll need many clothes.  There are no laundries on most of these ships, and it’s a six weeks’ trip.  In the tropics you need to be changing all day if you care a brass farthing for your appearance.”  He did not tell her that Marcella’s frankness and her lack of conventional training would ostracize her among the first-class passengers, half of whom were Government officials and the like going out to Australia or India, while the rest were self-made Australians going back home after expensive visits to the Old Country.  They moved in airtight compartments.  The exclusive Government folks would not have accepted a place on a raft that held the self-made colonials even at the risk of losing their lives.  The self-made folks, snubbed and a little hurt, were rather inclined to be blatantly loud and assertive in self-defence.  Between the two Marcella would be a shuttlecock.  But she clinched the discussion herself by remarking airily that she was going in the cheapest possible way.

“You shall go second class,” said her aunt.  “I quite see Dr. Angus’s point about the first-class passengers.”

“I’m going third, Aunt.  I won’t spend money that needn’t be spent, and the third-class part of the ship gets there just as fast as the first!  I’d be uncomfortable among rich folks.  I only know poor people, and Dr. Angus—­I’ll get on better with third-class people.”

The doctor laughed at the implication, and was forced to give in.  He told Aunt Janet that the third class was quite comfortable, though he really knew nothing about it.  He had never been on an emigrant ship in his life.  He arranged for a share in a two-berth cabin quite blithely.

Marcella felt solemn when she finally saw the doctor’s machine at the door waiting for her in the grey dawn light; Jean cried, and Tammas and Andrew, who were coming in with the tide, seeing the trap crawling along, ran up a little flag on the masthead to cheer her going.  But Aunt Janet did not cry.  She kissed the girl unemotionally and went into the house, shutting the heavy door with a hollow, echoing clang.