Rosina was forced to laugh; her humor began to bubble riotously upwards at the notion of Von Ibn and Jack measuring the berth that morning. He did not know why she laughed, but he kissed her without caring.
“For me there is no comfort under two métres,” he declared vigorously.
Just then the owner of the room tried the door.
“This is my room,” he called through the crack.
They looked at each other, and she ran lightly to the door, unlocked it and let her cousin enter.
“You fearful liar!” she exclaimed, as he put his arm about her, and held out the spare hand to her lover. “Oh, Jack, you awful, awful liar, what shall I say to you?”
“Say to him that you are most happy,” her lover suggested.
Jack was beaming.
“I never said a word that wasn’t true,” he declared. “You asked me if the letter was from him, and I said that he wasn’t writing any letters these days, and then I said that he was going crazy.”
“And that was most true,” the other man broke in; “I have no manner to think left in my head these later nights.”