"Schmidt," he supplied cheerfully. "May I inquire what book you are reading?"
"You would not be interested. It is by an American."
"I have read a great many American novels," said he stiffly. "My father was an American. Awfully jolly books, most of them."
"I looked you up in the passenger list a moment ago," she said coolly. "Your home is in Vienna. I like Vienna."
He was looking rather intently at the book, now partly lowered. "Isn't that the passenger list you have concealed in that book?" he demanded.
"It is," she replied promptly. "You will pardon a natural curiosity? I wanted to see whether you were from New York."
"May I look at it, please?"
She closed the book. "It isn't necessary. I am from New York."
"By the way, do you happen to know a Miss Blithers,—Maud Blithers?"
Miss Guile frowned reflectively. "Blithers? The name is a familiar one. Maud Blithers? What is she like?"