“Breakfast!”
“Certainly. Do you think you can drink a cup of hot coffee?”
“Jupiter Pluvius! Hot coffee? Alas, I must be mad.”
“You’ll see,” she laughed. “In twenty minutes.”
Indeed, it was not long before she again appeared. “I’ve just come to say good-morning.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“De-li-ciously. I can only stay a minute—breakfast is cooking. You poor man, you’re still in your wet clothes, while I’m as dry as toast.”
Her garments, down to her very shoes, spread since dawn on the racks above the range, were dry and even smoothed. Only the scarlet sash and handkerchief were missing—the salt water had ruined them.
The braid of shining hair no longer hung down her back, but now encircled her head in heavy coils, a new and charming arrangement. He was vaguely conscious that it made her look strangely mature, and endowed her with a mysterious dignity.
“I haven’t been really wet for some time,” he assured her. “If you’ll take charge, I’ll have a look at the chart in the locker here. Perhaps we can tell where we are.”