“I don’t believe she will, really, Rose.  But I’ll speak to her, and tell her she can’t be too cautious.”

“Not now, please!” the boy entreated.

“Well, I’ll find another chance,” March assented.  He looked round and caught a smiling nod from Burnamy, who was still with the Eltwins; the Triscoes were at a table by themselves; Miss Triseoe nodded too, but her father appeared not to see March.  “It’s all right, with Rose,” he said, when he sat down again by his wife; “but I guess it’s all over with Burnamy,” and he told her what he had seen.  “Do you think it came to any displeasure between them last night?  Do you suppose he offered himself, and she—­”

“What nonsense!” said Mrs. March, but she was not at peace.  “It’s her father who’s keeping her away from him.”

“I shouldn’t mind that.  He’s keeping her away from us, too.”  But at that moment Miss Triscoe as if she had followed his return from afar, came over to speak to his wife.  She said they were going on to Dresden that evening, and she was afraid they might have no chance to see each other on the train or in Hamburg.  March, at this advance, went to speak with her father; he found him no more reconciled to Europe than America.

“They’re Goths,” he said of the Germans.  “I could hardly get that stupid brute in the telegraph-office to take my despatch.”

On his way back to his wife March met Miss Triscoe; he was not altogether surprised to meet Burnamy with her, now.  The young fellow asked if he could be of any use to him, and then he said he would look him up in the train.  He seemed in a hurry, but when he walked away with Miss Triscoe he did not seem in a hurry.

March remarked upon the change to his wife, and she sighed, “Yes, you can see that as far as they’re concerned.”

“It’s a great pity that there should be parents to complicate these affairs,” he said.  “How simple it would be if there were no parties to them but the lovers!  But nature is always insisting upon fathers and mothers, and families on both sides.”

XIX.

The long train which they took at last was for the Norumbia’s people alone, and it was of several transitional and tentative types of cars.  Some were still the old coach-body carriages; but most were of a strange corridor arrangement, with the aide at the aide, and the seats crossing from it, with compartments sometimes rising to the roof, and sometimes rising half-way.  No two cars seemed quite alike, but all were very comfortable; and when the train began to run out through the little sea-side town into the country, the old delight of foreign travel began.  Most of the houses were little and low and gray, with ivy or flowering vines covering their walls to their browntiled roofs; there was here and there a touch of Northern Gothic in the architecture; but usually where it was pretentious it was in the mansard taste, which was so bad with us a generation ago, and is still very bad in Cuxhaven.