I went on deck again, and found Clovelly in the smoking-room. The
bookmaker was engaged in telling tales of the turf, alternated with comic
songs by Blackburn--an occupation which lasted throughout the voyage, and
was associated with electric appeals to the steward to fill the flowing
bowl. Clovelly came with me, and we joined Miss Treherne and her father.
Mr. Treherne introduced me to his daughter, and Clovelly amiably drew the
father into a discussion of communism as found in the South Sea Islands.

I do not think my conversation with Miss Treherne was brilliant. She has
since told me that I appeared self-conscious and preoccupied. This being
no compliment to her, I was treated accordingly. I could have endorsed
Clovelly's estimate of her so far as her reserve and sedateness were
concerned. It seemed impossible to talk naturally. The events of the
day were interrupting the ordinary run of thought, and I felt at a
miserable disadvantage. I saw, however, that the girl was gifted and
clear of mind, and possessed of great physical charm, but of that fine
sort which must be seen in suitable surroundings to be properly
appreciated. Here on board ship a sweet gravity and a proud decorum--not
altogether unnecessary--prevented her from being seen at once to the best
advantage. Even at this moment I respected her the more for it, and was
not surprised, nor exactly displeased, that she adroitly drew her father
and Clovelly into the conversation. With Clovelly she seemed to find
immediate ground for naive and pleasant talk; on his part, deferential,
original, and attentive; on hers, easy, allusive, and warmed with piquant
humour. I admired her; saw how cleverly Clovelly was making the most of
her; guessed at the solicitude, studious care, and affection of her
bringing-up; watched the fond pleasure of the father as he listened; and
was angry with myself that Mrs. Falchion's voice rang in my ears at the
same moment as hers. But it did ring there, and the real value of that
smart tournament of ideas was partially lost to me.