“Were you ill yesterday?” she said, standing in front of him.  “I could hear your bunk creaking lots of times in the night, and once or twice you gave the partition an almighty crack.”

“Oh, I’m all right,” he said, dashing past without looking at her.

“I suppose,” she called softly, with mischief in her eyes, “that you are intentionally making for the women’s bathroom?  Someone might want to use it and be horrified to see you emerging—­”

“Laughing at me again, aren’t you?” he cried savagely, turning with a scowl and standing undecided.

She hurried below to give him a chance to retire gracefully.

When she was in a white frock and Jimmy shining with soap and water, they took their places at the breakfast-table.  Mr. Peters looked at Jimmy in surprise.

“Hello!  I never noticed you get up,” he said.

“He slept in my cabin,” she explained.  “He was frightened.”

“Very kind of you, I’m sure, young lady,” he said and turned to Mrs.
Hetherington, who looked at Marcella calculatingly between narrow lids. 
As soon as breakfast was over she put her arm confidingly through
Marcella’s and drew her aside.

“Come for a little stroll, dear, won’t you?  I can see that you’re different from most of the passengers—­they’re so common so terribly common.  I’ve regretted very much that I came third class.  It wasn’t that I wanted to save money, you know,” her voice twittered to little inarticulacies.

“Most of the people are very interesting,” said Marcella.

“I find poor Mistah Petahs interesting, very,” said Mrs. Hetherington, pressing Marcella’s arm.  “Losing my dear husband, and he losing his wife—­it’s a bond, isn’t it?  And I feel so sorry for a poor man with a child to bring up.”

“Um—­” said Marcella doubtfully.

“It’s sweet of you to mother the little fellow, dear.  He must be a great trouble to poor Mistah Petahs!  I have two little darlings, but I find that boarding school suits them much better than being with me.  I think that children need both father and mother, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Marcella dazedly, unable to follow Mrs. Hetherington’s reasoning.

“And you know,” she went on, “I’ve a terrible feeling that poor Mistah Petah’s loneliness might lead him to—­er—­Oh dreadful things.”  She dropped her voice to a whisper.  “My dear—­I believe he drinks,” she said, underlining the words.  “I tried my best to look after him last night,” she added plaintively.

“Oh, did you?” said Marcella and suddenly stopped dead.  “All this looking after!  What are we all up to?  Is it impudence or vanity, or what is it?  I don’t know!  Anyway, I’m going below,” and she turned abruptly away.

As it was Sunday Marcella lost her crowd of children, who were claimed for a church service by an enthusiastic missionary in the first class.  She spent the morning writing letters and reading.  When she went to her cabin to get ready for lunch there was a note pinned on to the mirror.  She took it down in surprise.