Yes, he would borrow; but now he knew he would not pay back; perhaps not. He let her chatter on while he listened gravely or added a word or question to set her going again. In a short while he knew the main points of her life and some of the details; and she believed—so perfect is the illusion of a one-sided conversation—that he had given as much in exchange. To the woman they seemed infinitely acquainted after the first half-hour. She was very young, one could be sure; she had the frankness, the unsuspicious frankness of twenty-five; which, nevertheless, is very artful and quite conscious of itself. The man did not misjudge her; he knew he was not dealing with a child, but with a thoroughly independent and responsible young person.
And he knew also that he was stony broke.
The half-hours sped as they talked. Two bells followed closely by a single stroke clanged suddenly from the fore part of the ship.
She made a brisk attempt to look at a watch.
“No use,” she put the watch back. “I have Paris time. Three bells is, let me see—‘eight’ is eight and ‘one’ is half-past eight——”
“It is half-past nine,” he helped, as if it did not matter how the day sped.
“Gracious!” she exclaimed. “Have we wasted an hour and a half just talking?”
“So it seems.”
“I won’t stay here all day. I’ve just got to get on land. Why, man, I’ve never seen Naples or Pompeii or—any of those places,” waving a hand about. “If I had my dog here I’d go it alone. I’ve been in worse places. Why, I believe there’s nobody on the ship but us!”
She looked around. It seemed so.