SIXTEEN

"Why do you laugh at me?" she inquired, with a frank testiness that

pleased me better than her other talk.

"Because you are so young to be blasée about anything."

"I am seventeen" (a little piqued).

"You hardly look sixteen. Do you like travelling alone?"

"Bah! I care nothing about it. I have crossed the Channel ten times,

alone; but then I take care never to be long alone: I always make friends."

"You will scarcely make many friends this voyage, I think" (glancing at

the Watson-group, who were now laughing and making a great deal of noise

on deck).

"Not of those odious men and women," said she: "such people should be

steerage passengers. Are you going to school?"

"No."

"Where are you going?"

"I have not the least idea— beyond, at least, the port of Boue-Marine."

She stared, then carelessly ran on: