“They are humane. They make me thankful that I am an American.”
Mr. Sabin inclined his head slightly towards the smoking-room.
“Does your unfortunate husband know?”
“He does; and he acquiesces. He has no alternative. But is that quite nice of you, Mr. Sabin, to call my husband an unfortunate man?”
“I cannot conceive,” he said slowly, “greater misery than to have possessed and lost you.”
She laughed gaily. Mr. Sabin permitted himself to admire that laugh. It was like the tinkling of a silver bell, and her teeth were perfect.
“You are incorrigible,” she said. “I believe that if I would let you, you would make love to me.”
“If I thought,” he answered, “that you would never allow me to make love to you, I should feel like following this cigar.” He threw it into the sea.
She sighed, and tapped her little French heel upon the deck.
“What a pity that you are like all other men.”