"No, you're not. You are the most beautiful——"
"Just look at the sky. Did you ever see it so far away in England?"
Bert looked at his companion's upturned face, which was rosy with blushes.
"No, I didn't. It's too dashed far away. This country would be a lot cosier if it weren't so big. But coming back to——"
"——And this air," interposed Esther; "surely it is blowing from off a frozen sea of wine," and she opened her pretty mouth slightly, inhaling deeply.
"You evidently hate compliments," said Bert.
"I detest them. Talk about something else. What are you intending to do when you get to your land?"
Bert paused a little while before replying. The change of subject was too sudden, too much of a flop from the heights of playful badinage with a lovely young woman, to the sordid depths of reality.
"Jolly well get married—that is if I can persuade some charming girl to have me," and as Esther turned and looked at him, probably to see how earnest he was, his eyes twinkled, half humorously, half seriously.
"Some nice girl you know in England, I suppose?"