one of disappointment.
Elizabeth sighed. It would have been fun to flirt with him, at least until they disagreed again, which was sure to happen soon enough. But she didn’t dare. Arousing her mother’s ire was exactly the wrong thing to do when you wanted something from her. And Elizabeth wanted something from her.
“So,” she said to Max with false cheerfulness, “tell me everything you haven’t already told me about living in Paris.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’ve told you enough about me. What about you? Have you always lived in New York? Where else have you traveled, besides Paris and London? I want to know everything.” He was leaning toward her again, his chin propped on an elbow improperly resting on the table. “What are your hobbies? What’s your favorite color? Does your mother allow you any athletics and if so, what are they? Where do you want to go to college and why do you want to go? And why can’t you? Why are you planning to marry a man you don’t love?”
Elizabeth gasped, staring at him in horror. The questions had started off innocently enough. She would have answered the first few willingly. But then he’d gone too far. If Lily and Arthur hadn’t been deeply engaged in their own conversation, they would have overheard and then Elizabeth would have left the room out of embarrassment.
Because they weren’t listening, had not in fact heard a word Max said, Elizabeth’s anger faded as quickly as it had come. She needed to talk to someone, someone her own age, someone who might understand what she was feeling. Who better than Max? He was not only her own age, he had defied his parents successfully, at least for a period of time. That was more than she had ever done. Perhaps he could tell her what to do.
Besides, once the trip was over, she need never see Max Whittaker again, so anything she told him now wouldn’t matter in the slightest.
Making up her mind to confide in him, Elizabeth glanced once more around the room to make certain her parents hadn’t arrived. Thus assured, she leaned slightly toward Max and began, “I want to go to Vassar, because…”
While Elizabeth was conversing with Max in the restaurant on B deck, Katie Hanrahan, flanked by two small children and their nanny, Eileen O’Keefe, stood slightly behind Brian and Patrick in the entrance to the third-class dining room on F deck amidships. Katie’s eyes were open wide, as was her mouth. “My,” she declared softly, her delighted gaze sweeping the room, “isn’t it grand, then?”
It was, indeed, quite grand, unlike anything she had ever seen before. She had anticipated a bare-floored room with long, functional wooden tables and uncomfortable benches. The benches would be so crowded, there would hardly be room to lift a fork to one’s mouth. But this was not the case in the dining salon. The room was large, its walls enameled a bright, shiny white and decorated with posters of seafaring ships. There were chairs, not benches, and they looked comfortable. The tables were covered with fine white cloths. It was a bright, attractive room.
Katie had expected to stand in line to receive her food. To her amazement, people were already seated at the tables, and waiters in uniform were circulating with trays.
“And are we havin’ waiters, too?” Eileen whispered in awe, spotting one of the dark-jacketed gentlemen carrying a tray filled with glasses. “Men waitin’ on me, sure and that’s a wonder! Wait’ll I tell Sean. He’ll be green as the grass of Ireland with envy.”
Katie noticed Brian peering around the room as if he’d lost something, and guessed instantly who he was looking for. Marta. Katie looked, too, but didn’t see her.
“There’s another dining room on the other side of the bulkhead,” a young waiter said, noticing as he passed them that they seemed to be looking for someone. “Could be whoever you’re seeking is in that room.”
Without a word, Brian turned on his heels and
Elizabeth sighed. It would have been fun to flirt with him, at least until they disagreed again, which was sure to happen soon enough. But she didn’t dare. Arousing her mother’s ire was exactly the wrong thing to do when you wanted something from her. And Elizabeth wanted something from her.
“So,” she said to Max with false cheerfulness, “tell me everything you haven’t already told me about living in Paris.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’ve told you enough about me. What about you? Have you always lived in New York? Where else have you traveled, besides Paris and London? I want to know everything.” He was leaning toward her again, his chin propped on an elbow improperly resting on the table. “What are your hobbies? What’s your favorite color? Does your mother allow you any athletics and if so, what are they? Where do you want to go to college and why do you want to go? And why can’t you? Why are you planning to marry a man you don’t love?”
Elizabeth gasped, staring at him in horror. The questions had started off innocently enough. She would have answered the first few willingly. But then he’d gone too far. If Lily and Arthur hadn’t been deeply engaged in their own conversation, they would have overheard and then Elizabeth would have left the room out of embarrassment.
Because they weren’t listening, had not in fact heard a word Max said, Elizabeth’s anger faded as quickly as it had come. She needed to talk to someone, someone her own age, someone who might understand what she was feeling. Who better than Max? He was not only her own age, he had defied his parents successfully, at least for a period of time. That was more than she had ever done. Perhaps he could tell her what to do.
Besides, once the trip was over, she need never see Max Whittaker again, so anything she told him now wouldn’t matter in the slightest.
Making up her mind to confide in him, Elizabeth glanced once more around the room to make certain her parents hadn’t arrived. Thus assured, she leaned slightly toward Max and began, “I want to go to Vassar, because…”
While Elizabeth was conversing with Max in the restaurant on B deck, Katie Hanrahan, flanked by two small children and their nanny, Eileen O’Keefe, stood slightly behind Brian and Patrick in the entrance to the third-class dining room on F deck amidships. Katie’s eyes were open wide, as was her mouth. “My,” she declared softly, her delighted gaze sweeping the room, “isn’t it grand, then?”
It was, indeed, quite grand, unlike anything she had ever seen before. She had anticipated a bare-floored room with long, functional wooden tables and uncomfortable benches. The benches would be so crowded, there would hardly be room to lift a fork to one’s mouth. But this was not the case in the dining salon. The room was large, its walls enameled a bright, shiny white and decorated with posters of seafaring ships. There were chairs, not benches, and they looked comfortable. The tables were covered with fine white cloths. It was a bright, attractive room.
Katie had expected to stand in line to receive her food. To her amazement, people were already seated at the tables, and waiters in uniform were circulating with trays.
“And are we havin’ waiters, too?” Eileen whispered in awe, spotting one of the dark-jacketed gentlemen carrying a tray filled with glasses. “Men waitin’ on me, sure and that’s a wonder! Wait’ll I tell Sean. He’ll be green as the grass of Ireland with envy.”
Katie noticed Brian peering around the room as if he’d lost something, and guessed instantly who he was looking for. Marta. Katie looked, too, but didn’t see her.
“There’s another dining room on the other side of the bulkhead,” a young waiter said, noticing as he passed them that they seemed to be looking for someone. “Could be whoever you’re seeking is in that room.”
Without a word, Brian turned on his heels and
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