Postponing the pleasure of thanking her, I reverted to the topic the last attack had interrupted.
“I want to hear about your reorientation. You were able to put the streets in their proper place again, and to see New York as it was; but in my case—”
She put out her hand with that air which there is no gainsaying.
“I’m rather tired. I think I must go to my cabin and have a rest.” She added, however, not very coherently: “The way things happen is in general the best way—if we know how to use it.”
Somewhat desperately, because of her determination to go, I burst out, “And do you think all this has been the best way?”
“You must see for yourself that it’s been a very good way. We’ve been able to do—to do the things we’ve both done.” But the admission in the use of the first personal plural pronoun seemed suddenly to alarm her. She took refuge again in her need of rest. “I really must be off. If we don’t meet again before we leave the boat—”
“Oh, but we shall!”
“I’m very often confined to my cabin.”
“Not when you want to be out of it.”