He was
sure she must be cold in her serge jacket, and wondered why she didn't
go below to the ladies' cabin. Also he wondered, even more vaguely, why
her people didn't take better care of the child: there must be some one
belonging to her on board.
At last she turned, not to look at him, but to pace back and forth as
others were pacing. She was in front of Stephen, and he saw only her
back, which seemed more girlish than ever as she walked with a light,
springing step, that might have kept time to some dainty dance-music
which only she could hear. Her short dress, of hardly more than ankle
length, flowed past her slender shape as the black, white-frothing waves
flowed past the slim prow of the boat; and there was something
individual, something distinguished in her gait and the bearing of her
head on the young throat. Stephen noticed this rather interesting
peculiarity, remarking it more definitely because of the almost mean
simplicity of the blue serge dress. It was of provincial cut, and
looked as if the wearer might have bought it ready made in some country
town. Her hat, too, was of the sort that is turned out by the thousand
and sold at a few shillings for young persons between the ages of twelve
and twenty.
By and by, when she had walked as far forward as possible, the deck
rising under her feet or plunging down, while thin spray-wreaths sailed
by on the wind, the girl wheeled and had the breeze at her back.
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