Smithers, so we shan't see much of each other; and, perhaps, if we should
meet, it might be as well if we didn't seem to have any acquaintance. It
don't look well for a man in my position to know second-class passengers,
especially young lady passengers who write novels."

"You need not be afraid, Mr. Meeson: I have no wish to claim your
acquaintance," said Augusta.

At this point, her enemy was taken violently worse again, and, being
unable to stand the sight and sound of his writhing and groaning, she
fled forward; and, reflecting on this strange and awkward meeting, went
down to her own berth, where, with lucid intervals, she remained helpless
and half stupid for the next three days. On the fourth day, however, she
reappeared on deck quite recovered, and with an excellent appetite. She
had her breakfast, and then went and sat forward in as quiet a place as
she could find. She did not want to see Mr. Meeson any more, and she did
want to escape from the stories of her cabin-mate, the lady's-maid. This
good person would, after the manner of her kind, insist upon repeating to
her a succession of histories connected with members of the families with
whom she had lived, many of which were sufficient to make the hair of a
respectable young lady like Augusta stand positively on end. No doubt
they were interesting to her in her capacity of a novelist; but, as they
were all of the same colour, and as their tendency was absolutely to
destroy any belief she might have in virtue as an inherent quality in
highly developed woman or honour in man, Augusta soon wearied of these
_chroniques scandaleuses_. So she went forward, and was sitting looking
at the "white horses" chasing each other across the watery plain, and
reflecting upon what the condition of mind of those ladies whose
histories she had recently heard would be if they knew that their most
secret, and in some cases disgraceful and tragic, love affairs were the