She professed to be content with her
situation--we promised to lend each other books and I assured her
familiarly that I should be in and out of her room a dozen times a
day--pitying me for having to mingle in society. She judged this a
limited privilege, for on the deck before we left the wharf she had taken
a view of our fellow-passengers.
"Oh I'm an inveterate, almost a professional observer," I replied, "and
with that vice I'm as well occupied as an old woman in the sun with her
knitting. It makes me, in any situation, just inordinately and
submissively _see_ things. I shall see them even here and shall come
down very often and tell you about them. You're not interested today,
but you will be tomorrow, for a ship's a great school of gossip. You
won't believe the number of researches and problems you'll be engaged in
by the middle of the voyage."
"I? Never in the world!--lying here with my nose in a book and not
caring a straw."
"You'll participate at second hand. You'll see through my eyes, hang
upon my lips, take sides, feel passions, all sorts of sympathies and
indignations. I've an idea," I further developed, "that your young
lady's the person on board who will interest me most."
"'Mine' indeed! She hasn't been near me since we left the dock.
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