“Now, not a word, Merrithew.  We’ll forget it all and start fresh.”

In the days of the voyage that followed, while it might not have been said that Virginia Howland snubbed Dan, neither could it have been said she was not at pains to see that she was never alone with him.

In fact, the attitude of either in relation to the other might in no way have been termed receptive.  So far as Dan was concerned, he felt that, whether unwisely or not, he had made quite clear to her the terms upon which their friendship could continue; she had expressed her views no less clearly.  The stand of both was irrevocable.

The second day out, feeling it to be his duty, he made tentative advances which, if not directly declined, at least left him the impression he had been gently and skilfully rebuffed.  Since then he had been careful not to place himself again in a similar position.

At the table she would address him in the line of general conversation, and was at pains to greet him cordially whenever they met about the ship.  But otherwise she left no doubt as to her wishes concerning him.  Once she came into the saloon for breakfast before the rest of the party had taken their places.  Dan was in his accustomed seat at the head of the table; he arose and wished her good-morning.  She replied faintly, and then she sat toying idly with her rusk, her eyes for the most part fastened upon Dan, who had resumed his breakfast as though oblivious of her presence.  She seemed trying to make up her mind to speak; but she failed.  When Dan arose, bowed slightly, and left the saloon, she was still sitting silent with her breakfast untasted.

At Galveston Oddington left for New York by train, but Mr. Howland, receiving more assuring despatches, decided to remain with the party.  They crammed cotton into the Tampico’s holds, and later at Savannah they put pine-tar and pitch and other naval supplies aboard; thereby increasing Dan’s responsibilities a hundredfold.  But business was business, as Mr. Howland had said; and Dan had but to accept his worries and keep them from the party, which had fared well at the hands of friends in the two ports.

The Tampico left Savannah one afternoon about an hour after a trim Savannah liner had dropped down the river.  At dinner that night the merriment was supreme, for in four days the Tampico would be in New York, and the Howlands’ guests had had about all the excitement and salt air they wanted.  The air was soft; there was brilliant starlight.

Dan had spent most of the evening on the bridge, Mr. Howland having requested him to make up the coast well out to sea in order to give the party a “final soaking” of real ocean air.  He had not complied absolutely.  Still, the Tampico was a good ninety miles off shore, well outside the track of south-bound vessels.

Shortly after nine o’clock he left the bridge and walked along the deck.  The party was breaking up.  Miss Howland had sauntered away from the group, and was leaning over the rail with her chin resting on her hands.