"Probably best for everybody," said Percival. "Now it's your turn. How about yourself!"
"Well," she said with what struck him as the strangest irrelevance, "our scheme seems to be working with the captain. We've got him guessing. He told me last night I was not to go to the prow with you again."
"Why not?"
"He thinks you like me too much."
"What do you think?"
Percival bit his lip the moment he had asked it, but leaning there on the railing, with her dancing eyes on a level with his own, and nothing else on the entire horizon, it was difficult to keep the situation in hand.
"I think you are getting a bully tan," she said, scrutinizing him closely; "most men get a red nose or else they get all speckled around the edges. Yours looks like a nice crust on an apple pie."
"I do tan rather decently," he said; "but you haven't told me what you think."
"What about?"
"About my liking you too much."