the crowd of leave-takers and the muddle of farewells before we put off;
we talked a little about the boat, our fellow-passengers and our
prospects, and then I said: "I think you mentioned last night a name I
know--that of Mr. Porterfield."

"Oh no I didn't!" she answered very straight while she smiled at me
through her closely-drawn veil.

"Then it was your mother."

"Very likely it was my mother." And she continued to smile as if I ought
to have known the difference.

"I venture to allude to him because I've an idea I used to know him," I
went on.

"Oh I see." And beyond this remark she appeared to take no interest; she
left it to me to make any connexion.

"That is if it's the same one." It struck me as feeble to say nothing
more; so I added "My Mr. Porterfield was called David."

"Well, so is ours." "Ours" affected me as clever.

"I suppose I shall see him again if he's to meet you at Liverpool," I
continued.

"Well, it will be bad if he doesn't."

It was too soon for me to have the idea that it would be bad if he did: