“How what?”
“How invariably you women flatter.”
“I don’t.” She spoke hurriedly, confusedly.
“You had better learn, then,” Paul went on, still laughing; “I’m afraid that when we’re well stuffed with it we’re more good-natured. Shall I take you back to the stern? I’m getting frightfully sleepy; aren’t you?”
On the way back she did not speak.
When they reached the stern-deck, “Good-night,” he said, promptly opening the door into the lighted saloon.
She looked up at him; in her face there was an inattention to the present, an inattention to what he was saying. Her eyes scanned his features with a sort of slow wonder. But it was a wonder at herself.
“You had better see that the windows are closed,” said Paul. “There’s going to be a change of wind.”