"Nothing that should induce you to tip the boat over, as you just came near doing," I replied. "I merely asked a question."
"You must believe I am deceiving you in some way, or you would not use that expression," she said, eyeing me narrowly.
"I have a great deal more confidence in you than you have in me," was my answer.
"You can say this—knowing where I passed last night!" she said, reproachfully.
"Oh, I don't mean that sort of confidence," I remarked. "I mean the confidence that would make you promise to spend every night as long as you live under the same guardianship."
A little sigh came from the lips of my companion, which had whitened suddenly; the kind of sigh that might mean almost anything. The boatmen were too busy to listen to us, even had they understood a word of English, which they did not.
"Marjorie," I whispered, for I could not resist the desire to hear her say it, "don't you care for me, just a little bit?"
"Please!" was the only word she vouchsafed, and I heeded the request.
We came to the steamer's side, meeting many astonished gazes. I gave the requisite directions to the porters who came down the ladder for the baggage. The purser had assigned me another room, as requested, which was something. Wesson lifted his hat and said "Good-afternoon," when we met, but that was all. If he guessed that I had managed to avoid rooming with him by a set plan he made no remark.
The purser of the Pretoria is young, handsome and obliging. His father, a custom-house officer from Canada, was making a tour on the boat and struck me as a fine type. I learned that another of his sons was a member of the Dominion Parliament.