"Rags," he began, "Rags——"
"John M. Chestnut?" she inquired, inspecting him with great interest.
"Of course!" he exclaimed angrily. "Are you trying to pretend you don't know me? That you didn't write me to meet you here?"
She laughed. A chauffeur appeared at her elbow, and she twisted out of her coat, revealing a dress made in great splashy checks of sea-blue and gray. She shook herself like a wet bird.
"I've got a lot of junk to declare," she remarked absently.
"So have I," said Chestnut anxiously, "and the first thing I want to declare is that I've loved you, Rags, every minute since you've been away."
She stopped him with a groan.
"Please! There were some young Americans on the boat. The subject has become a bore."
"My God!" cried Chestnut, "do you mean to say that you class my love with what was said to you on a boat?"
His voice had risen, and several people in the vicinity turned to hear.