Blue Voyage: A Novel Read Online Free

to another and crumbling his bread.
    “But we mustn’t have a quarrel, must we, on the very first night of the voyage—what? Besides, where could Mrs. Faubion and Miss Dacey be safer than on a ship?”
    “There!” cried Mrs. Faubion, triumphantly.
    “I don’t know about a ship being so awfully safe though,” said Miss Dacey, wriggling and grimacing in a manner intended to be arch. “We know all about these sailors with a wife in every port—ha ha! Of course, I don’t mean you, Mr. Barnes!”
    Mr. Barnes opened his mouth, a little taken back.
    “Oh, of course not, Miss Dacey! How could you dream of such a thing!” He looked at Demarest, laughing. “The only ‘ports’ I know are New York, Liverpool and Southampton. So I suppose you credit me with three.”
    Miss Dacey blushed furiously and gave another desperate wriggle. She was blue-eyed, anemic, with a long, thin mouth. She wore a bangle. Not more than twenty, thought Demarest.
    “Now you know I didn’t mean that … How mean of you. I didn’t mean it at all. Though, of course, these handsome men——!” She gave a peculiarly vapid little laugh, and eyed Mr. Barnes sidelong.
    “Now! Now!” cried Mr. Smith. “That’s enough! That’ll do for you. We can’t have our officers demoralized like this!”
    “This is becoming a little personal, ” said Barnes.
    “Highly,” said Demarest. “You’re elected.”
    Mrs. Faubion laughed absent-mindedly, looking rather hard at Demarest. She was handsome, saturnine, though her features were not particularly good. There was something brooding and dark about her which, combined with her extreme youth and brilliant vulgarity, intrigued him enormously. She was extraordinarily alive. And the fact that, although a mere girl, she was married, piqued him. What did she know? Certainly there was a good deal that was hard and blatant about her—and she had picked up, in America, an astounding vaudeville sort of accent. But at the same time there was something oddly unsophisticated in her somber eyes, a burning simplicity and candor. She looked now at Smith with amused suspiciousness, and asked him:
    “Are you two traveling together?”
    “Why, of course!” cried Demarest. “We’re father and son.”
    “What! With different names! You’re kidding me. Is your name Smith?”
    “Well, now, father, that’s a delicate question, isn’t it … Shall we tell the lady the truth?”
    Smith laughed. “Go on—go on!”
    “Oh, don’t be silly! I know you’re not father and son.”
    She eyed him with a doubtful gleam, half smiling.
    “Come now!” said Demarest, “don’t you observe the startling resemblance?… You see, it was like this.”
    “ Yes, it was!”
    “Father, you see, had an unfortunate little affair some years ago—he has a peculiar psychological affliction—which caused him to spend two years in—er—jail. And when he came out, he changed his name.”
    “ Really !” cried Miss Dacey, leaning forward intensely. “How exciting! And what is the affliction?”
    “Are you sure we ought to know about this, Mr. Smith?” asked the Purser, with a fine, grave air of concern.
    “Oh—among friends——!” laughed Smith, flourishing his fork.
    “Yes, it’s sad, it’s sad,” said Demarest, shaking his head. “No one knows what father has suffered—nor me either. You see, father is a kleptomaniac.”
    “A what ?” Mrs. Faubion cried. “ What did you say?”
    “He has, every now and then, an uncontrollable impulse to steal. Spoons and forks are a great temptation to him. We can’t let him go out to dinner alone—have to watch him every minute. And a restaurant or hotel! he goes simply cuckoo when he gets inside the door … It was a restaurant that undid him! A little restaurant on Sixth Avenue. And all for a couple of nickel-plated spoons!”
    “Dear, dear,” murmured the Purser, “a year for each spoon, too! How unfortunate!”
    “Oh, but be serious! You aren’t together, are