and sentimental humbugs.

III

Lucy Woodrow did not appear on the deck until after nightfall. Jim
understood that she would insist upon expressing lifelong gratitude with
the usual effusion and the usual tears. He feared the ordeal, and
prepared himself for it. He had seen the girl often during the voyage,
sometimes accompanied by a blonde youth, whose beautiful clothes and
exquisite manners afforded unfailing material for primitive satire in the
forecastle, but, as a rule, quite alone, muffled in a dark, hooded cloak,
watching the sea, always with her face turned yearningly back, as if
England and home lay straight out along the vessel's wake. She was
middling tall, eighteen perhaps, with a thin but supple and pleasing
figure, and a quiet, smileless face, that wanted only happiness to make
it beautiful.

Done's misanthropy was not a quality of his nature, it was thrust upon
him, and did not prevent his being a close observer of men and things;
but that he had the smallest interest in any person on board was not
believed by one of his shipmates, since he was instinctively careful to
betray no concern. He had been struck by the girl's apparent loneliness.
The attentions of the blonde youth were borne meekly, as part of the
contiguous discomforts--that much was obvious to the forecastle and all
under. It never occurred to Jim that she was probably placed like
himself, and had good reason to stand aloof.

When he had been on board the Francis Cadman a month or so, Jim was
amazed to find that the attitude of the passengers and the crew towards
himself was almost analogous to that of the people of Chisley. Nearly