“You can smoke,” she reminded him, “on deck.”
“Thanks,” he replied, “but I don’t care to give my Laranagas to the winds. You would come here, and you must do the best you can. You can’t expect to have me dangling after you all the time.”
There was a silence, and then the sound of Mr. Watson’s heavy tread, as he left the state room, followed in a moment or two by the light footsteps and soft rustle of silk skirts, which indicated the departure also of his wife.
Mr. Sabin carefully enveloped himself in an ulster, and stood for a moment or two wondering whether that conversation was meant to be overheard or not. He rang the bell for the steward.
The man appeared almost immediately. Mr. Sabin had known how to ensure prompt service.
“Was it my fancy, John? or did I hear voices in the state room opposite?” Mr. Sabin asked.
“Mr. and Mrs. Watson have taken it, sir,” the man answered.
Mr. Sabin appeared annoyed.
“You know that some of my clothes are hung up there,” he remarked, “and I have been using it as a dressing-room. There are heaps of state-rooms vacant. Surely you could have found them another?”