Fanny sat silent. She was twisting the fingers of one hand in the grip of the other, as she had since childhood, when deeply disturbed. And suddenly she began to cry—silently, harrowingly, as a man cries, her shoulders shaking, her face buried in her furs.
“Fanny! Fanny girl!” He was horribly disturbed and contrite. He patted her arm, awkwardly. She shook free of his hand, childishly. “Don't cry, dear. I'm sorry. It's just that I care so much. It's just——”
She raised an angry, tear-stained face. “It's just that you have an exalted idea of your own perceptions. It's just that you've grown up from what they used to call a bright little boy to a bright young man, and you're just as tiresome now as you were then. I'm happy enough, except when I see you. I'm getting the things I starved for all those years. Why, I'll never get over being thrilled at the idea of being able to go to the theater, or to a concert, whenever I like. Actually whenever I want to. And to be able to buy a jabot, or a smart hat, or a book. You don't know how I wanted things, and how tired I got of never having them. I'm happy! I'm happy! Leave me alone!”
“It's an awful price to pay for a hat, and a jabot, and a book and a theater ticket, Fan.”
Ella Monahan had taken the tube, and was standing in the great shed, watching arrivals with interest, long before they bumped over the cobblestones of Hoboken. The three descended to Fanny's cabin. Ella had sent champagne—six cosy pints in a wicker basket.
“They say it's good for seasickness,” she announced, cheerfully, “but it's a lie. Nothing's good for seasickness, except death, or dry land. But even if you do feel miserable—and you probably will—there's something about being able to lie in your berth and drink champagne alone, by the spoonful, that's sort of soothing.”
Heyl had fallen silent. Fanny was radiant again, and exclamatory over her books and flowers.
“Of course it's my first trip,” she explained, “and an event in my life, but I didn't suppose that anybody else would care. What's this? Candy? Glace fruit.” She glanced around the luxurious little cabin, then up at Heyl, impudently. “I may be a coarse commercial person, Clancy, but I must say I like this very, very much. Sorry.”
They went up on deck. Ella, a seasoned traveler, was full of parting instructions. “And be sure to eat at Kempinski's, in Berlin. Twenty cents for lobster. And caviar! Big as hen's eggs, and as cheap as codfish. And don't forget to order mai-bowle. It tastes like champagne, but isn't, and it has the most delicious dwarf strawberries floating on top. This is just the season for it. You're lucky. If you tip the waiter one mark he's yours for life. Oh, and remember the plum compote. You'll be disappointed in their Wertheim's that they're always bragging about. After all, Field's makes 'em all look like country stores.”
“Wertheim's? Is that something to eat, too?”