Mrs Falchion | Page 4

did so at his keen, uncompromising
criticism, which I knew was correct enough; for of all official posts that
of a ship- surgeon is least calculated to make a man take a pride in
existence. At its best, it is assisting in the movement of a panorama; at
its worst, worse than a vegetation. Hungerford's solicitude for myself,
however, was misplaced, because this one voyage would end my career
as ship- surgeon, and, besides, I had not vegetated, but had been
interested in everything that had occurred, humdrum as it was. With
these thoughts, I looked out of the port-hole, to see the shores of
Colombo, Galle Face, and Mount Lavinia fading in the distance, and
heard seven bells--the time for dinner. When I took my seat at the table
of which I was the head, my steward handed to me a slip of paper,
saying that the chief steward had given a new passenger, a lady, the
seat at my right hand, which had been vacated at Colombo. The name
on the paper was "Mrs. Falchion." The seat was still empty, and I
wondered if this was the beautiful passenger who had attracted me and
interested the Intermediate Passenger. I was selfish enough to wish so:
and it was so.
We had finished the soup before she entered. The chief steward, with
that anxious civility which beauty can inspire in even so great a
personage, conducted her to her seat beside me. I confess that though I
was at once absorbed in this occurrence, I noticed also that some of the
ladies present smiled significantly when they saw at whose table Mrs.
Falchion was placed, and looked not a little ironically at the purser,
who, as it was known, always tried to get for his table the newest

addition to the passenger list--when it was a pretty woman. I believe
that one or two rude people chaffed the chief steward about "favouring
the doctor"; but he had a habit of saying uncomfortable things in a
deferential way, and they did not pursue the subject. Then they
commiserated the purser, who was an unpleasant little Jew of an
envious turn of mind; and he, as I was told, likened me to Sir John
Falstaff. I was sensitive in those days, and this annoyed me, particularly
that I had had nothing to do with placing Mrs. Falchion at my table. We
are always most sensitive when guilty concerning the spirit and not the
letter.
One who has lived the cosmopolitan life of London should be quick at
detecting nationalities, but I found it difficult, even after I heard her
speak, to guess at Mrs. Falchion's native land. There were good reasons
for this, as may be duly seen. Her appearance in the saloon caused an
instant buzz of admiration and interest, of which she seemed oblivious.
If it was acting, it was good acting; if it was lack of self- consciousness,
it was remarkable. As I soon came to know, it was the latter--which, in
such a woman, increased the remarkableness. I was inclined at first to
venture the opinion that she was an actress; but I discovered that she
possessed the attracting power of an actress without the calculated
manner of one; her very lack of self-consciousness was proof of this
emancipation.
When she sat down, I immediately welcomed her by name to my table.
The only surprise she showed at my knowledge of her name and my
self- introduction was to lift her head slightly and look at me, as if
wondering whether I was likely to be an inquisitive and troublesome
host; and also, as I thought, to measure me according to her measure. It
was a quick look, and the interest she showed was of a passive kind.
She asked me as she might an old acquaintance--or a waiter--if the soup
was good, and what the fish was like; decided on my recommendation
to wait for the entrees; requested her next neighbour to pass the olives;
in an impersonal way began to talk about the disadvantages of life at
sea; regretted that all ship food tasted alike; wondered if the cook knew
how to make a Russian salad; and added that the menu was a national
compromise.

Now that she was close to me, I could see that her beauty was real and
notable. Her features were regular, her eyes of a greyish violet, her chin
strong, yet not too strong--the chin of a singer; her hands had that
charming quiet certainty of movement possessed by so few; and her
colour was of the most delightful health. In this delightful health, in her
bountiful yet perfect physical eloquence, her attractiveness, as it
seemed to me, chiefly lay. For no one would ever have guessed her to
possess an emotional