"I like to be verbose," said Askew, sulkily.
"You always are--first about me, and then about this ship thing. I suppose the Fajardo woman will be the next."
"Don't speak of her like that."
"Why not? She is my rival. I should be more than mortal if I forgave her, and less than a woman if I did not say nasty things about her."
"Say them about me, then."
"I have been doing my best, and really, you take a ragging very well. There, poor boy"--she patted his cheek--"I shan't tease you any more. When do you sail?"
"In three weeks."
"For Buenos Ayres?"
"Of course."
"Oh true and eager lover! Dine with me next Thursday, and we can talk about her."