“You have been a great traveller, then,” she murmured, looking up at him with innocent, wide-open eyes. “You look as though you have been everywhere. Won’t you tell me about some of the odd places you have visited?”
“With pleasure,” he answered; “but first won’t you gratify a natural and very specific curiosity of mine? I am going to a country which I have never visited before. Tell me a little about it. Let us talk about America.”
She stole a sudden, swift glance at her questioner. No, he did not appear to be watching her. His eyes were fixed idly upon the sheet of phosphorescent light which glittered in the steamer’s track. Nevertheless, she was a little uneasy.
“America,” she said, after a moment’s pause, “is the one country I detest. We are only there very seldom—when Mr. Watson’s business demands it. You could not seek for information from any one worse informed than I am.”
“How strange!” he said softly. “You are the first unpatriotic American I have ever met.”
“You should be thankful,” she remarked, “that I am an exception. Isn’t it pleasant to meet people who are different from other people?”
“In the present case it is delightful!”
“I wonder,” she said reflectively, “in which school you studied my sex, and from what particular woman you learned the art of making those little speeches?”
“I can assure you that I am a novice,” he declared.
“Then you have a wonderful future before you. You will make a courtier, Mr. Sabin.”