All that day she did not see Louis. Once or twice she heard him in his
cabin, speaking to the man who shared it with him; not once did he put
in an appearance at meals, and even at the melancholy hour of twilight
he hid himself somewhere. She began to feel a little neglected.
It was easy to make friends: there were so many children to act as
introducers. It was interesting to watch people forming little cliques;
the pock-marked man had now a collection of eight; they went ashore at
Plymouth and came back again talking excitedly, with little snatches of
song. Mr. Peters and Mrs. Hetherington, the bright-haired little widow,
were inseparable; one of the farm lads had forsaken Ole Fred already for
a shy, red-cheeked emigrant girl, who giggled a good deal in corners
with him; they sat for long hours, as the trip went on, saying nothing,
staring out vacantly to sea, and occasionally holding each other's
hands. At tea-time Marcella saw Louis come to the door of the saloon,
look round with a frown, become very red in the face as he saw several
people look at him casually, and beat a hasty retreat. She had a long
talk with the thin girl during the evening, learning that she had been
under-housemaid in a girls' school; she asked Marcella her name,
volunteering the information that she was Phyllis Mayes, only her
friends called her Diddy; she seemed to have got over much of her grief
at parting with her sister.
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