"It looks that way," he said. And then a sudden compunction seized him. "I didn't mean to be a pig and take the lower berth. You are quite welcome to it."
"Oh, no, no," protested the other. "The choice is always to the first comer. That is the rule of the sea."
Dan noticed that, though he spoke English well, it was with the clipped accent which betrayed the Frenchman.
"Then I choose the upper one," he said, laughing.
The other shrugged his shoulders.
"I can but thank you," he said. "After all, you are younger than I. My name is André Chevrial, very much at your service," and he held out his hand.
If he had announced himself to be a prince of the blood, Dan would not have been surprised, for there was that in his bearing which bespoke the finished gentleman, and a magnetism in his manner to which Dan was already yielding.
"Mine is Webster—Dan Webster," he said, and took the outstretched hand warmly.
M. Chevrial looked a little puzzled.
"The name seems somehow familiar," he said; "but I cannot quite place it."