They had the deck pretty much to themselves.  It was only four o’clock, too early for the appetite-stimulating walk before dinner, and their fellow passengers were basking in the sunshine, stretched out on their chairs in two even rows like so many mummies on exhibition.  Some were reading, some were dozing.  Two or three were under the weather, completely prostrated, their bilious complexion of a deathly greenish hue.  At each new roll of the ship, they closed their eyes as if resigned to the worst that might happen and their immediate neighbours furtively eyed each of their movements as if apprehensive of what any moment might bring forth.  A few couples were flirting to their heart’s content under the friendly cover of the life-boats which, as on most of the transatlantic liners, were more useful in saving reputations than in saving life.  The deck steward was passing round tea and biscuits, much to the disgust of the ill ones, but to the keen satisfaction of the stronger stomached passengers who on shipboard never seem to be able to get enough to eat and drink.  On the bridge, the second officer, a tall, handsome man with the points of his moustache trained upwards a la Kaiser Wilhelm, was striding back and forth, every now and then sweeping the horizon with his glass and relieving the monotony of his duties by ogling the better looking women passengers.

“Hello, Shirley!” called out a voice from a heap of rugs as Shirley and Jefferson passed the rows of chairs.

They stopped short and discovered Mrs. Blake ensconced in a cozy corner, sheltered from the wind.

“Why, aunt Milly,” exclaimed Shirley surprised.  “I thought you were downstairs.  I didn’t think you could stand this sea.”

“It is a little rougher than I care to have it,” responded Mrs. Blake with a wry grimace and putting her hand to her breast as if to appease disturbing qualms.  “It was so stuffy in the cabin I could not bear it.  It’s more pleasant here but it’s getting a little cool and I think I’ll go below.  Where have you children been all afternoon?”

Jefferson volunteered to explain.

“The children have been rhapsodizing over the beauties of the ocean,” he laughed.  With a sly glance at Shirley, he added, “Your niece has been coaching me in metaphysics.”

Shirley shook her finger at him.

“Now Jefferson, if you make fun of me I’ll never talk seriously with you again.”

“Wie geht es, meine damen?”

Shirley turned on hearing the guttural salutation.  It was Captain Hegermann, the commander of the ship, a big florid Saxon with great bushy golden whiskers and a basso voice like Edouard de Reszke.  He was imposing in his smart uniform and gold braid and his manner had the self-reliant, authoritative air usual in men who have great responsibilities and are accustomed to command.  He was taking his afternoon stroll and had stopped to chat with his lady passengers.  He had already passed Mrs. Blake a dozen times and not noticed her, but now her pretty niece was with her, which altered the situation.  He talked to the aunt and looked at Shirley, much to the annoyance of Jefferson, who muttered things under his breath.