"Every one is a little bit mad, don't you think? Especially in moments of great excitement. I daresay my head has been turned quite appreciably, and I'm glad that you've been kind enough to notice it. Where is Mrs. Gaston?" He was vastly exhilarated.
She regarded him with eyes that sparkled and belied the unamiable nature of her reply.
"The poor lady is where she is not at all likely to be annoyed, Mr. Schmidt."
Then she took up a magazine and coolly began to run through the pages. He waited for a moment, considerably dashed, and then said "Oh," in a very unfriendly manner. She found her place in the magazine, assumed a more comfortable position, and, with noteworthy resolution, set about reading as if her life depended upon it.
He sat down, pulled the rug up to his chin, and stared out at the great, heaving billows. Suddenly remembering another injury, he felt once more of the back of his head.
"By jove!" he exclaimed. "There is a lump there."
"I can't hear you," she said, allowing the magazine to drop into her lap, but keeping her place carefully marked with one of her fingers.
"I can hear you perfectly," he said.
"It's the way the wind blows," she explained.
"Easily remedied," said he. "I'll move into Mrs. Gaston's chair if you think it will help any."