He obeyed, so far as to go away at once, and having once started, he did not stop short of the purser’s office.  He made an excuse of getting greenbacks for some English bank-notes, and then he said casually that he supposed there would be no chance of having his room on the lower deck changed for something a little less intimate with the sea.  The purser was not there to take the humorous view, but he conceived that March wanted something higher up, and he was able to offer him a room of those on the promenade where he had seen swells going in and out, for six hundred dollars.  March did not blench, but said he would get his wife to look at it with him, and then he went out somewhat dizzily to take counsel with himself how he should put the matter to her.  She would be sure to ask what the price of the new room would be, and he debated whether to take it and tell her some kindly lie about it, or trust to the bracing effect of the sum named in helping restore the lost balance of her nerves.  He was not so rich that he could throw six hundred dollars away, but there might be worse things; and he walked up and down thinking.  All at once it flashed upon him that he had better see the doctor, anyway, and find out whether there were not some last hope in medicine before he took the desperate step before him.  He turned in half his course, and ran into a lady who had just emerged from the door of the promenade laden with wraps, and who dropped them all and clutched him to save herself from falling.

“Why, Mr. March!” she shrieked.

“Miss Triscoe!” he returned, in the astonishment which he shared with her to the extent of letting the shawls he had knocked from her hold lie between them till she began to pick them up herself.  Then he joined her and in the relief of their common occupation they contrived to possess each other of the reason of their presence on, the same boat.  She had sorrowed over Mrs. March’s sad state, and he had grieved to hear that her father was going home because he was not at all well, before they found the general stretched out in his steamer-chair, and waiting with a grim impatience for his daughter.

“But how is it you’re not in the passenger-list?” he inquired of them both, and Miss Triscoe explained that they had taken their passage at the last moment, too late, she supposed, to get into the list.  They were in London, and had run down to Liverpool on the chance of getting berths.  Beyond this she was not definite, and there was an absence of Burnamy not only from her company but from her conversation which mystified March through all his selfish preoccupations with his wife.  She was a girl who had her reserves, but for a girl who had so lately and rapturously written them of her engagement, there was a silence concerning her betrothed that had almost positive quality.  With his longing to try Miss Triscoe upon Mrs. March’s malady as a remedial agent, he had now the desire to try Mrs. March upon Miss Triscoe’s mystery as a solvent.  She stood talking to him, and refusing to sit down and be wrapped up in the chair next her father.  She said that if he were going to ask Mrs. March to let her come to her, it would not be worth while to sit down; and he hurried below.