alone.
The hesitancy and awkwardness which usually followed the first moments
of their charming isolation were this morning more than usually
prolonged.
"It seems we are not going into Mazatlan, after all," said Miss Keene at
last, without lifting her conscious eyes from the sea.
"No," returned the young fellow quickly. "I heard all about it down
below, and we had quite an indignation meeting over it. I believe Mrs.
Markham wanted to head a deputation to wait upon the captain in his
berth. It seems that the first officer, or whosoever is running the
ship, has concluded we've lost too much time already, and we're going to
strike a bee-line for Cape St. Lucas, and give Mazatlan the go-by. We'll
save four days by it. I suppose it don't make any difference to you,
Miss Keene, does it?"
"I? Oh, no!" said the girl hastily.
"I'M rather sorry," he said hesitatingly.
"Indeed. Are you tired of the ship?" she asked saucily.
"No," he replied bluntly; "but it would have given us four more days
together--four more days before we separated."
He stopped, with a heightened color. There was a moment of silence, and
the voices of Senor Perkins and Mr. Banks in political discussion on the
other side of the deck came faintly. Miss Keene laughed.
"We are a long way from San Francisco yet, and you may think
differently."
"Never!" he said, impulsively.
He had drawn closer to her, as if to emphasize his speech. She cast
a quick glance across the deck towards the two disputants, and drew
herself gently away.
"Do you know," she said suddenly, with a charming smile which robbed
the act of its sting, "I sometimes wonder if I am REALLY going to San
Francisco. I don't know how it is; but, somehow, I never can SEE myself
there."
"I wish you did, for I'M going there," he replied boldly.
Without appearing to notice the significance of his speech, she
continued gravely:
"I have been so strongly impressed with this feeling at times that it
makes me quite superstitious. When we had that terrible storm after we
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