"Oh, I see." But it wasn't true. He didn't see in the very least why he should be punished in this way, a sulky way, moreover, and singularly un-Nanlike, as he told himself.
Just after the luncheon-bugle sounded the next day, Napier met the same stewardess again. Again she came toiling up the companionway, tray-laden.
"You are taking that to Miss Ellis?"
Yes, she was.
"She is ill, then?"
"No, she isn't ill. Just having her dinner in Number Twenty-four."
"Twenty-four isn't Miss Ellis's number."
"No, sir. It's the number of the lady who isn't feeling very well, though she does eat well. I'll say that for her." The woman pursued her way with the access of vigor that a dash of vindictiveness will sometimes generate.
He had not so much as a glimpse of Nan until evening. Going down to dress, he met her coming out of the library with an armful of books.
"Well, at last!" He tried to take the books. She backed away from him.