Alice shuddered and
Quincy drew her wrap more closely about her.
"Shall we go down into the cabin?"
"Not yet. There is nothing enjoyable about this Cimmerian gloom, and
yet it has its attractions. Florence, what is it that Tom Hood wrote
about London fog?"
"I only remember one line, and I'm not sure I can quote that
correctly. I think it reads: 'No sun, no moon,' I should add 'no
stars, no proper time of day.'"
During the two days since leaving New York, Florence had been a
creature of moods: sad, when she brooded over her trouble due, she
felt sure, to another's act; light-hearted when she thought of the
prospect of again meeting Reginald and having him prove his
innocence.
She had been spared newspaper publicity. Not for ten times the sum he
had lost would the Hon. Nathaniel have had his daughter's name in the
public prints. He was a lawyer, but it was his business to get other
people out of trouble, and not to get his own family into it--which
shows that great lawyers are not exempt from that very common human
frailty, selfishness.
Sounds of applause were borne to their ears. "Let us go in," said
Florence, "some one has been singing."
In the main saloon, all was merriment. Each passenger had faith in
Capt. Robert Haskins, who had crossed the Atlantic hundreds of times.
The _Altonia_ belonged to a lucky line, the luck that follows careful
foresight as regards every detail, the luck that brings safety and
success from constant vigilance.
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