The crossing was very rough, and it was Godfrey who was ill, excessively ill, not Miss Ogilvy who, with the assistance of her maid and the steward, attended assiduously to him in his agonies.
"And to think," he moaned faintly as they moored alongside of the French pier, "that once I wished to be a sailor." "Nelson was always sick," said Miss Ogilvy, wiping his damp brow with a scented pocket-handkerchief, while the maid held the smelling-salts to his nose.
"Then he must have been a fool to go to sea," muttered Godfrey, and relapsed into a torpor, from which he awoke only to find himself stretched at length on the cushions of a first-class carriage.
Later on, the journey became very agreeable.

Godfrey was interested in everything, being of a quick and receptive mind, and Miss Ogilvy proved a fund of information.

When they had exhausted the scenery they conversed on other topics.

Soon she knew everything there was to know about him and Isobel, whom it was evident she could not understand.
"Tell me," she said, looking at his dark and rather unusual eyes, "do you ever have dreams, Godfrey ?" for now she called him by his Christian name.
"Not at night, when I sleep very soundly, except after that poor cabman was killed.

I have seen lots of dead people, because my father always takes me to look at them in the parish, to remind me of my own latter end, as he says, but they never made me dream before." "Then do you have them at all ?" He hesitated a little.
"Sometimes, at least visions of a sort, when I am walking alone, especially in the evening, or wondering about things.