"Thanks, very much," she said pleasantly.
Hollister resumed his post against the rail. His movement had brought him nearer, so that he stood now within arm's length, and his interest in her had awakened, become suddenly intense. He felt a queer thankfulness, a warm inward gratefulness, that she had been able to regard his disfigurement unmoved. He wondered how she could. For months he had encountered women's averted faces, the reluctant glances of mingled pity and distaste which he had schooled himself to expect and endure but which he never ceased to resent. This girl's uncommon self-possession at close contact with him was a puzzle as well as a pleasure. A little thing, to be sure, but it warmed Hollister. It was like an unexpected gleam of sunshine out of a sky banked deep with clouds.
Presently, to his surprise, the girl spoke to him.
"Are we getting near the Channel Islands?"
She was looking directly at him, and Hollister was struck afresh with the curious quality of her gaze, the strangely unperturbed directness of her eyes upon him. He made haste to answer her question.
"We'll pass between them in another mile. You can see the western island a little off our starboard bow."
"I should be very glad if I could; but I shall have to take your word for its being there."
"I'm afraid I don't quite understand."
A smile spread over her face at the puzzled tone.