“I suppose you’ll be shocked?”
“Being shocked is an emotion hostile to art—I never have it.”
“Well, then, I never had such fun. Of course we were careful, because of mamma (mamma’s idea became funny too!), and because we knew what was going to happen. But we managed to get no end of talks in quiet places—the library’s very good in fine weather—and he told me all sorts of wonderful things. It was like reading the very best detective stories, only ever so much better—so much more vivid, you know.”
“More personal interest?”
“A thousand times! And it was fun, too, at meals, and when there was a concert, and so on. I used to find him looking at me, with his eyes all full of laughter; and I looked back at him, enjoying the secret and the way he was making fools of all the rest. We were just like two children with some game that the grown-up people know nothing about.”
“He had waved your morality overboard with a vengeance,” said I.
“It was the jolliest time I ever had in my life,” said Mrs Pryce. “He recited beautifully at the concert—‘The Ballad of Beau Brocade.’ ”
“Well done him!” I said approvingly. I began rather to like the fellow myself.
“And at the end he made a little speech, thanking the captain, and saying how sorry we should all be when the voyage ended. ‘And nobody sorrier than myself,’ he said, with one of his looks at me—such a twinkling look—and a tiny wave of those hands.”
“He must have been the most popular man on board?”