“Oh, no,” I said. “These gowns were actually given to me by a friend who had grown tired of them. Her husband spoils her.”

“Most certainly,” she replied with a sniff. “I wondered where you were. I do hope you weren’t staying away out of sensibility toward me. I do want you to feel that this cabin is yours as much as mine.”

“I was up on deck, watching the ship sail past the Statue of Liberty,” I said, “and after that I did a tour of our part of the ship.”

“So did my friends and I,” she said. “All quite satisfactory, don’t you think? The lounge looks most inviting. I shall look forward to reading and writing at one of those small tables in the window. Or perhaps it will be warm enough to sit outside in a deck chair, at least until we sail into northern climes. I gather we sail quite far north up the American coast and there is always a danger of icebergs. Quite exciting, don’t you think? I have always wanted to see one.”

“From a distance, I hope,” I said and she laughed. “A good sense of humor. I like that, Mrs. Sullivan. Tell me, are you going to France or continuing your journey to another destination?”

“I’m going to stay with friends in Paris,” I said. “One of them is a painter and they have been in Paris for the past few months.”

“A painter. How exciting. Might one have heard of his work? Perhaps my friend Miss Hetherington is familiar with him.”

“This painter is a woman,” I said, “and her work is not yet well-known. She is hoping to learn from the great artists in Paris. In fact she has had an introduction to Reynold Bryce. Have you heard of him?”

“Reynold Bryce? Naturally I know of him.” She stuck a final hairpin into the bun and closed the closet door. “In fact I attended a reception at an art gallery in Boston once, when he still resided and painted in our country. I must say I far preferred his earlier work. This modern style with lots of daubs and blobs leaves me cold. But Miss Hetherington says we must be open-minded and find the beauty in every piece of art. She is a good Christian woman, Miss Hetherington, and quite a fine painter herself.”

I put the sleeping Liam into the crib and sat patiently on my bunk because there was not enough room for two of us to access the closet at the same time.

“Shall you be staying long in Paris?” Miss Pinkerton asked.

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying,” I said.

“Your husband must be a most understanding and generous man to allow you to travel without him. Or is he to join you in Paris?”

“I’m afraid not. He has to work.”

“What is his profession?”