Also there are about two hundred ship postcards. Would I mind signing them for the stewards? I am feeling very good-natured and I enjoy signing anything this morning. I pass the forenoon till lunch time.
I really feel as though I haven't met anybody. They say that barriers are lowered aboard ship, but not for me.
Ed. Knoblock and I keep very much to ourselves. But all the time I have been sort of wondering what became of the beautiful opera singer who came aboard and was photographed with me. I wonder if being photographed together constitutes an introduction? I have not seen her since the picture.
We get seats in deck chairs. Knoblock and myself. Ed. is busy reading Economic Democracy by some one important. I have splendid intentions of reading Wells's Outline of History. My intentions falter after a few paragraphs. I look at the sea, at people passing all around the ship. Every once in a while I glance at Knoblock hoping that he is overcome by his book and that he will look up, but Knoblock apparently has no such intention.
Suddenly I notice, about twenty chairs away, the beautiful singer. I don't know why I always have this peculiar embarrassment that grips me now. I am trying to make up my mind to go over and make myself known. No, such an ordeal would be too terrific. The business of making oneself known is a problem. Here she is within almost speaking distance and I am not sure whether I shall meet her or not. I glance away again. She is looking in my direction. I pretend not to see her and quickly turn my head and get into conversation with Knoblock, who thinks I have suddenly gone insane.
"Isn't that lady the opera singer?" I ask.
"Yes."
That about expresses his interest.
"Shouldn't we go over and make ourselves known?" I suggest.
"By all means, if you wish it." And he is up and off almost before I can catch my breath.