She turned over a dozen pages and showed them a mounted, eight-by-ten enlargement. “Here it is. I had the picture enlarged because it was such a good negative. You can see her up there at the rail. See, she’s holding on to the strips of colored paper...”
Mason said, “Pardon me,” picked up the photograph album and took the picture to the light so that he could study it carefully. “I’m something of a nut on photography myself,” he said, by way of explanation. “This is a fine piece of work. You must have a very good camera there. Miss Whiting.”
“I have,” she said. “It was given to me by an uncle who runs a camera store in the East. It takes a sharp negative, has an anastigmatic lens and a focal plane shutter...”
“I see you’re something of an expert yourself,” Mason laughed.
She nodded. “I’m just crazy about it,” she said, “and this color photography gives me the biggest thrill of all.”
Mason said, “Yes, I bought a miniature camera over in China and snapped hundreds of colored pictures. Perhaps when your sister gets back you’ll be interested in seeing those I took in Honolulu and while I was on the ship coming over. By the way, who’s this young chap standing just back of your sister? He seems to be acquainted with her, and...”
Marian Whiting grabbed up the album, started to say something, and then checked herself and said, “Someone on the boat, I guess.”
“He seems to be taking quite an interest in your sister,” Mason said.
“Oh, Sis just slays ‘em when she gets on a boat, ” Marian Whiting said. “Why, I remember one time—”
“I notice his hand is on her shoulder,” Mason insisted.