"
V
He walked past, and she looked up with a smile, but did not ask him to
draw his chair near hers, though there was a vacant space. It was an
absurd and far-fetched idea, but he could not help asking himself if it
were possible that she had picked up any acquaintance on board, who had
told her he was a marked man, a foolish fellow who had spoiled his life
for a low-born, unscrupulous woman's sake. It was a morbid fancy, he
knew, but he was morbid now, and supposed that he should be for some
time to come, if not for the rest of his life. He imagined a difference
in the girl's manner. Maybe she had read that hateful interview in some
paper, when she was in London, and now remembered having seen his
photograph with Margot Lorenzi's. He hated the thought, not because he
deliberately wished to keep his engagement secret, but because the
newspaper interview had made him seem a fool, and somehow he did not
want to be despised by this dancing girl whom he should never see again
after to-morrow. Just why her opinion of his character need matter to
him, it was difficult to say, but there was something extraordinary
about the girl. She did not seem in the least like other dancers he had
met. He had not that feeling of comfortable comradeship with her that a
man may feel with most unchaperoned, travelling actresses, no matter how
respectable. There was a sense of aloofness, as if she had been a young
princess, in spite of her simple and friendly ways.
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