‘I do think you ought to give me a little more of your confidence, Lucy,’ she said, with an aggrieved air.

‘In what way, Mrs. Macdougal?’ asked Lucy, surprised at the words and the tone.

’Well, my dear, I have treated you almost like a sister.  I am in a manner your guardian; and it’s nice to feel one is trusted, is it not?’

‘But I do trust you; and I am grateful too—­most grateful.’

’It isn’t that.  You don’t tell me things.  For instance, about young Done.’

’Really, Mrs. Macdougal, there is nothing of interest that you do not know.

’Oh, nonsense, Lucy!  Why are you blushing, then?  You have been a great deal together since the accident, and I permitted it because he is so brave and handsome, and he is quite a gentleman, in spite of his position.  But ’—­and here the voice grew petulant—­’I thought you would give me your confidence.  You ought to have had more consideration for me, seeing how dull I was, and how stupid it is here, with nothing to do and nothing to talk about.’

’My meetings with Mr. Done have been merely friendly.  It would not amuse you in the least to hear our conversation repeated.’  Lucy felt that her face was scarlet.  She was angry and combative.

‘Come, now, is that fair?’ continued Mrs. Macdougal, patiently sad.

’You know you are the heroine of the ship’s romance.  We’re just aching with curiosity about it.’

‘Mrs. Macdougal, you amaze me!’

’We have scarcely talked of anything else for weeks, and I did think you’d put your trust in me.’

The girl was standing with squared shoulders and erect head, a patch of colour on either cheek, a courageous spark in either eye, and wrath in every gesture and in every line of her slim figure.

‘Is this true?’ she said.  ’Do you mean to tell me that my friendship with Mr. Done has been the subject of the usual idle chatter here, day and night?’

‘What could you expect, my dear?’

‘That I have been criticised and scandalized and spied upon?’

’But with the nicest feelings and the best wishes.  What else was there to interest anyone?  I thought you understood.  It was so romantic and delightful, and we were all so pleased to find him taking a real interest in you.  The people quite expect you to become engaged, you know.  It would be a most delightful ending, would it not?’

‘It is a shame—­a great shame!’ cried Lucy.  These people have no decency.  I will tell you this, Mrs. Macdougal that no word of what you speak of has passed between Mr. Done and me.’

Mrs. Macdougal was quite grieved.  ’The passengers will be disappointed she said.  ’I’m afraid they won’t think it quite nice of you.  You see, these things are expected to end prettily.  It’s customary.’

It’s very absurd and very mean.’

Mrs. Macdougal shook her head ominously.  The thought of the chagrin of the cabins, deprived of a satisfactory climax to their little romance, filled her with gravest apprehension.  Her strong belief was that Done and Lucy owed it as a sacred duty to the eternal verities, as set forth in popular fiction, to marry.  If they failed to conform, they gave people good grounds for a grievance.