"By jove, you—you amaze me!" he exclaimed.
"Please remove that dreadful mackintosh and touch the bell for me. You see, I am a very prosaic person, after all. Even in the face of disaster I can have a craving for food and drink. That's better."
In a sort of daze, he tapped the little table bell. A waiter appeared on the instant.
"Give us more light, waiter," was her command, "and serve dinner at once."
The lights went up, and Robin looked into her soft, smiling eyes.
"It doesn't matter," he whispered hoarsely. "I don't care what happens to me, Bedelia, I—I shall never give you up. You are worth all the kingdoms in the world. You are the loveliest, most adorable—"
"Hush! The eyes of your people are upon you. See! Even the waiter recognises his prince. He is overcome. Ah! He falters with the consomme. It is a perilous moment. There! I knew something would happen, poor fellow. He has spilled—but, all is well; he has his wits again. See! He replenishes from the steaming tureen. We are saved."
Her mood was so gaily satiric, so inconsequential, that he allowed a wondering, uncertain smile to banish the trouble from his eyes as he leaned back in the chair and studied the vivid, excited face of the girl who had created havoc with his senses. She was dressed as he had seen her on board the Jupiter during those delightful days on deck: the same trim figure in a blue serge suit and a limp white hat, drawn well down over her soft brown hair, with the smart red tie and the never-to-be-forgotten scent of a perfume that would linger in his nostrils forever and forever.
"Do you think it strange that I should have asked you to meet me here in this unconventional way instead of at the Inn?" she inquired, suddenly serious. Again the shy, pleading expression stole into her eyes.
"I did think so, but no longer. I am glad that we are here."