He gazed thoughtfully at Mrs. Vanderlyn for a short moment and then
thought better, even, of encouraging her thus much. He loved his
mother dearly but felt certain that she would be sure to wound the
strangers if she did anything whatever for them.

"Perhaps the best thing, after all," he said, "will be to let them,
undisturbed, preserve the incognito which they evidently wish to keep
in their misfortune." He had roused his mother's interest more keenly
than he had thought was possible. He would do no more to rouse it. He
could only hope that it might bear for him the fruit he wished--a
pleasant way of gaining an acquaintance with the lovely girl. He knew
that it was possible it might do otherwise and make a pleasant
meeting harder, even, than it seemed to be at present, but he had had
to take the chance. At any rate he had sufficiently excused himself,
in her eyes, for any reasonable thing he might, himself, do, when the
opportunity occurred, to gain the friendship of the steerage
travelers.

As for himself, he now carefully avoided any appearance of observing
them. In one way or another he watched them a good deal, but he did so
with such care that he was certain they were unaware of it--at least
was certain that the old man did not notice it. He found his heart
athrob with quite unusual speed, when, once or twice, he saw the
girl's big eyes directed toward him, not resentfully. They were, he
thought, the most resplendent eyes which ever had been turned in his
direction, but he did not let her know that he observed her glances.

His interest continually deepened, and the voyage, which he had
thought would be a tiresome trip, became one of the most absorbing
journeys he had ever known. Memories of those eyes were with him, even