Mathis did not look very pleased at the interruption but said agreeably enough: “I was afraid that you were ill, Monsieur. Are you better now?”
“Oh yes, thanks.”
“You have been ill?” demanded Josette.
“I felt tired.”
“It is the ventilation,” said Madame Mathis promptly. “I myself have felt a nausea and a headache since I got on the ship. We should complain. But”-she made a derogatory gesture in the direction of her husband-“as long as he is comfortable all is well.”
Mathis grinned. “Bah! It is seasickness.”
“You are ridiculous. If I am sick it is of you.”
José made a loud plopping noise with his tongue and leaned back in his chair, his closed eyes and tightened lips calling upon Heaven to deliver him from domesticity.
Graham ordered a whisky.
“Whisky?” José sat up whistling astonishment. “The Englishman drinks whisky!” he announced and then, pursing his lips and screwing up his face to express congenital aristocratic idiocy, added: “Some viskee, pliz, ol’ bhoy!” He looked round, grinning, for applause.