"Do you hear that, Grace?" laughed Mrs. Stuart. "The professor says I'm charming and intelligent."
"Ja wohl, it is true—it is true," exclaimed the count gallantly. "You are very charming. The herr professor vouches for your intelligence also. He is more competent than I to pass on that question. But I can certainly vouch for your being irresistibly charming."
Mrs. Phelps frowned. For some reason she seemed to regard Mrs. Stuart as more dangerous than Grace. Fanning herself vigorously, she exclaimed:
"It is hotter than I thought it was. I think we're in a warm corner. Count, suppose we take a turn on deck."
"Ja wohl—if you wish it," responded the German, rising with native politeness.
Somewhat reluctantly, Mrs. Stuart thought, he joined Mrs. Phelps, and they walked off briskly together down the deck.
"Now they're gone, you'll have to amuse us, professor," laughed Mrs. Stuart.
"I wish I had some one to fan me," complained Grace languidly.
"Allow me," exclaimed the professor eagerly.
Dapper and enthusiastic, he danced around, and, drawing up a chair, took the fan which Grace willingly surrendered. The professor was not exactly the man of her day-dreams, but he was as good as any one else to arrange the rugs around her chair or to pick up the things she was continually dropping. No one had seen the Hon. Percy Fitzhugh for the last two days. He had not dared to show his face on deck since his ignominious flight from the stoke-hold.