When Miss Vard entered her stateroom, that day, to brush her hair before going to lunch, her nostrils were assaulted by a most unpleasant odour, and, when a cursory inspection of the room failed to disclose its cause, she summoned the steward and asked him to investigate. An hour later, a white-capped official approached Mr. Vard, who was looking vainly through the collection of books in the library for something he cared to read, and informed him, with many apologies, that it would be necessary for him to change his stateroom. Just what was wrong with No. 514 it was impossible to say; but it could not be denied that there was a bad odour there, whose source had not been discovered, and the only alternative seemed to be to shut it up until the end of the voyage and then to overhaul it thoroughly.
"Very well," said Vard. "I have no objection to changing. But I cannot understand how a cubicle with floor, ceiling and walls of steel, could so suddenly become insanitary."
"It is a mystery to us also, sir, and one which we shall look into very thoroughly. We regret it extremely."
"Not at all," said Vard, somewhat astonished that so much should be made of the matter. "Have the steward change our baggage to the new quarters, and then come and show me where they are, and let us forget all about it."
"It is most kind of you to take it so good-naturedly," protested the officer. "The embarrassing thing to us is that, as there is no vacant stateroom in the second-cabin, we shall have to transfer you to the first."
Vard looked at him.
"And you expect me to pay the difference?" he asked.
"Oh, no; not at all," the other hastily assured him. "We had not thought of such a thing! But we feared you might have some objection to first-class, and that the change would inconvenience you still more."
Vard smiled grimly.