Melbourne under the four full months. We all saw far too much of
each other, unless, indeed, we were to see still more. Our
superficial attractions mutually exhausted, we lost heart and
patience in the disappointing strata which lie between the surface
and the bed-rock of most natures. My own experience was confined
to the round voyage of the Lady Jermyn, in the year 1853. It was
no common experience, as was only too well known at the time. And
I may add that I for my part had not the faintest intention of
falling in love on board; nay, after all these years, let me confess
that I had good cause to hold myself proof against such weakness.
Yet we carried a young lady, coming home, who, God knows, might have
made short work of many a better man!

Eva Denison was her name, and she cannot have been more than
nineteen years of age. I remember her telling me that she had not
yet come out, the very first time I assisted her to promenade the
poop. My own name was still unknown to her, and yet I recollect
being quite fascinated by her frankness and self-possession. She
was exquisitely young, and yet ludicrously old for her years; had
been admirably educated, chiefly abroad, and, as we were soon to
discover, possessed accomplishments which would have made the
plainest old maid a popular personage on board ship. Miss Denison,
however, was as beautiful as she was young, with the bloom of ideal
health upon her perfect skin. She had a wealth of lovely hair, with
strange elusive strands of gold among the brown, that drowned her
ears (I thought we were to have that mode again?) in sunny ripples;
and a soul greater than the mind, and a heart greater than either,
lay sleeping somewhere in the depths of her grave, gray eyes.

We were at sea together so many weeks. I cannot think what I was