“Who wears tight calico trousers, and smokes a huka,” she sneered.
“And welcome to both, my dear, as long as I never see them,” I answered, as I rose and said good night.
The next morning I went on deck before breakfast; there was a faint fresh breeze, but the sky and water were both blue, the latter as smooth as a lake. We were passing quite close to the beautiful coast of Italy, and meeting various fishing-boats, and small coasting steamers. As I turned to search for my deck-chair, I was saluted by the stranger, as I mentally called him.
And now, in the full broad daylight, instead of the dim swinging lamps, I saw, with the eye of an old Qui Hye, that he was undoubtedly a native of India. Yes, although possibly fairer-skinned than thousands of the inhabitants of the shores we were passing, he was an Asiatic, without question; very handsome also, without doubt, with perfectly chiselled features, and a broader chest and shoulders, and a finer physique than one generally sees.
“A lovely morning; may I bring your chair under the awning?” he inquired, in a most deferential manner.
“Yes, and a lovely scene,” I responded, as I seated myself.
“It is. I am very fond of Italy; are not you?”
“I am sure I should be, if I knew it well, but all my travelling has been in India. When my husband retires we hope to see something of Europe.”
“I have what is called ‘done’ Europe—France, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, Spain.”
“And to what country do you give the palm?”