"Oh, it isn't that," he replied. "It's the care-free touch I envy. Care-free—with all our fixed beliefs tumbling about us! See those stars! And we have been taught to call them steadfast!"
She laughed, and looked at him mischievously.
"You're seasick again," she said. "I knew it by the way you dropped to the deck."
"Well, you're honest; you ought to be proud of that," she told him. "Most men refuse to confess to seasickness until the fact confesses itself." She laughed.
"I might be proud of being honest if I were not too much ashamed of being ill. The lesser feeling is lost in the greater."
"You would feel better if you would not watch the rail. It's the worst thing you can do."
"You are watching it," he said.
"But I am never affected," she replied. "Besides, I'm feeling reckless to-night."
He turned and looked at her smilingly.