“You don’t, eh? but maybe you’d care to be seated where he is, within the range of those lustrous eyes, or was it luminous you called them, for all the world as though you were speaking of a black cat in a coal-cellar? And such cigars as she smokes, too?”
“She doesn’t smoke cigars!”
“Man, I saw the glow of one last night, burning red, and lighting, by its reflection, the dark splendour of her eyes, as you magnificently put it.”
“It was a cigarette, and you might know, if you were not always between waking and sleeping, that most high-bred Spanish women smoke them, and think no more of it than a dab of powder.”
“Then you were smoking the cigar, and I was awake enough to see that the fierce light of the cigar was closer than the breadth of my hand to the tiny glow of the dainty cigarette. I’ve been thinking whether I ought to congratulate you or her first.”
“Don’t be an ass, Webster; I was merely explaining to her the map of the stars.”
“Then there’s nothing between you?”
“Nothing but the length of the ship.”
“Then that relieves my heart of a great pressure, which has sat there ever since I had salt junk for breakfast. I shall propose to the Commodore myself.”
“The devil you will!” said Frank, rising to his elbow, and regarding Webster with anxiety.