"Do!" she said promptly. "You will not disturb me in the least,—unless you talk." She resumed her reading, half a page above the finger tip.
He moved over and arranged himself comfortably, snugly in Mrs. Gaston's chair. Their elbows almost met. He was prepared to be very patient. For a long time she continued to read, her warm, rosy cheek half-averted, her eyes applied to their task with irritating constancy. He did not despair. Some wise person once had told him that it was only necessary to give a woman sufficient time and she would be the one to despair.
A few passengers possessed of proud sea-legs, staggered past the snug couple on their ridiculous rounds of the ship. If they thought of Miss Guile and R. Schmidt at all it was with the scorn that is usually devoted to youth at its very best. There could be no doubt in the passing mind that these two were sweethearts who managed to thrive on the smallest of comforts.
At last his patience was rewarded. She lowered the magazine and stifled a yawn—but not a real one.
"Have you read it?" she inquired composedly.
"A part of it," he said. "Over your shoulder."
"Is that considered polite in Vienna?"
"If you only knew what a bump I've got on the back of my head you wouldn't be so ungracious." he said.
"I couldn't possibly know, could I?"
He leaned forward and indicated the spot on the back of his head, first removing his cap. She laughed nervously, and then gently rubbed her fingers over the thick hair.