“And how long was it till—­” Agatha faltered.

“Well, in our ease it was two years.”

“Oh!” said the girl, but Mrs. March hastened to reassure her.

“But our case was very peculiar.  I could see afterwards that it needn’t have been two months, if I had been willing to acknowledge at once that I was in the wrong.  I waited till we met.”

“If I felt that I was in the wrong, I should write,” said Agatha.  “I shouldn’t care what he thought of my doing it.”

“Yes, the great thing is to make sure that you were wrong.”

They remained talking so long, that March and the general had exhausted all the topics of common interest, and had even gone through those they did not care for.  At last the general said, “I’m afraid my daughter will tire Mrs. March.”

“Oh, I don’t think she’ll tire my wife.  But do you want her?”

“Well, when you’re going down.”

“I think I’ll take a turn about the deck, and start my circulation,” said March, and he did so before he went below.

He found his wife up and dressed, and waiting provisionally on the sofa.  “I thought I might as well go to lunch,” she said, and then she told him about Agatha and Burnamy, and the means she had employed to comfort and encourage the girl.  “And now, dearest, I want you to find out where Burnamy is, and give him a hint.  You will, won’t you!  If you could have seen how unhappy she was!”

“I don’t think I should have cared, and I’m certainly not going to meddle.  I think Burnamy has got no more than he deserved, and that he’s well rid of her.  I can’t imagine a broken engagement that would more completely meet my approval.  As the case stands, they have my blessing.”

“Don’t say that, dearest!  You know you don’t mean it.”

“I do; and I advise you to keep your hands off.  You’ve done all and more than you ought to propitiate Miss Triscoe.  You’ve offered yourself up, and you’ve offered me up—­”

“No, no, Basil!  I merely used you as an illustration of what men were—­the best of them.”

“And I can’t observe,” he continued, “that any one else has been considered in the matter.  Is Miss Triscoe the sole sufferer by Burnamy’s flirtation?  What is the matter with a little compassion for the pivotal girl?”

“Now, you know you’re not serious,” said his wife; and though he would not admit this, he could not be seriously sorry for the new interest which she took in the affair.  There was no longer any question of changing their state-room.  Under the tonic influence of the excitement she did not go back to her berth after lunch, and she was up later after dinner than he could have advised.  She was absorbed in Agatha, but in her liberation from her hypochondria, she began also to make a comparative study of the American swells, in the light of her late experience with the German highhotes.  It is true that none of the swells gave her the opportunity of