"That's a pity." As they strolled down towards the lounge, Jack became more taken by Rebecca's eyes. They were quite captivating, and looked even more so in the evening twilight.

       Rebecca looked around in wonderment at the design of the hallways; they were even more wondrous now that the ship was completed. "They put a lot of work in to the ship," she said.

       "That they did. The best of the best is what we're sailing on here. Ah, here we are." Jack led Rebecca into the small quaint lounge. There was no one else there. "I guess we have it to ourselves. There's not usually many people here. That's why I suggested this lounge." They sat together on a sofa near the wall, surrounded by ornate tapestries and paintings lit by a few lamps around the room.

       Rebecca pulled her feet up and took off her shoes "They are more trouble then they are worth." She then shivered, as the heat of the ship overtook her and rubbed her hands together "My hands are always cold" She said.

       "Here." Jack held out his hands. "Mine are most always warm. I get it from my mother." He took her hands and held them in his, noticing that they were quite small. There was silence, broken only by the clock ticking on the mantle, when Rebecca looked up.

       "It is my writers hands" Rebecca said, looking into Jack's brown eyes, "Tom would make me wear gloves in the summer, because my hands were always cold, he said it was because I write."

       "I've heard that writing can do that to you." Jack smiled, as he warmed Rebecca's small hands in his own. "Who's Tom?"

       "Tom, a friend, he is like the big brother I never had," Rebecca said. Then she paused looked around the room "I remember now, I have been here before" Rebecca got up and ran over to one of the walls "It was before the walls were put in, a person working on the boat gave me a tour. We came through this wall, nothing was in here but the clock." Rebecca, then realizing what she had done, tried to recompose herself "The sad thing is, three days after showing me around, the man was killed working on the Titanic" Rebecca said and walked back to sit by Jack again.

       "Wow... I'm sorry to hear that. Did you know him very well?" Jack hadn't even heard about accidents during the building. "If you'd like, we can go someplace else."

       "No, he had some time off, see a one of the people who were in charge of design were suppose to meet me and give me a tour, But they never showed up. So this man gave me a tour and told me what he know, for one of my articles. He was one of two men who died building this ship. (True fact) I used that as a small article, I think I called it Quidence or forewarning." Rebecca said. "I love being on ships, when I was young, my father would take me on huge ocean liners and we would travel first class. I have always loved being on the sea." Rebecca stopped and was about to say something, but didn't. Memories flooded back to her. It was hard to believe that five years ago, her father put her in a lifeboat and said good-bye. That was the last she saw of her father. He die at sea.

       "So what do you plan to do when you graduate, and become a banker?" Rebecca asked.

       "Sailing is quite a distinctively impressive experience. The power of the sea against the will of man is quite fascinating to me. Of course, on a ship like this, you wouldn't know you were sailing if it weren't for the captain." Jack grinned a little. "As for what I plan to do, I'll end up banking for a few years, perhaps go into business like my father. Will you be reporting for a while?"

       "Till I find a better job, or I'll just write till I die, maybe put a novel or two out." Rebecca said "I just really want to live in one place for more then a year."

       "Well, that's a noble ambition." Jack smiled a little. "I'm sorry you haven't been able to so far. If you really love writing, though, I think you'll stick with it. Do you enjoy it?"

       "Yes," Rebecca said "I love working with words so they tell a story, The way if a sentence is written right it could tell the whole story. But it is hard to work for a newspaper, Some men have no respect for woman writers, they think we are property, like there cars, we are just for show. " Rebecca paused just realizing what she had said. It was true, but not something a first class lady would say. "I wish that I could be my self in this room, I mean the design put into it, makes me fell like I should act like a first class lady. I would love to run around the halls and decks like a kid again, to be free from the oppression of classes and age."

       "Why don't you? There's nothing stopping you, except the disapproving glances of older women who are more stuck on which hat they're going to wear to dinner." Jack smiled at Rebecca. "I'm sorry your profession has to be like that, though."

       "Let's go run," Rebecca said standing up and putting on her shoes in a determined manor. "Come on" Rebecca said taking Jacks hand and pulling him off the sofa.

       Jack laughed. "Okay!" They went out the door, and ran up to A deck. They ran together past all the windows of the first class smoke room, the lounge, and the reading room. When they reached the end, they stopped, out of breath, and leaned against the railing. "Whew, I haven't run like that for a while."