“Oh, no; indeed no. You see—” she laughed—“I quite understand; I keep a temperament of my own—if you should happen to wonder why Mrs. Ilkington interests herself in me. I’m supposed to have a voice and to be in training for grand opera.”
“Not really?”
And again she laughed. “I’m afraid there isn’t any cure for me at this late date,” she protested; “I’ve gone so far I must go farther. But I know what you mean. People who sing are difficult. However ...” She stirred restlessly in her chair, then sat up.
“What is that light over there?” she asked. “Do you know?”
Staff’s gaze sought the indicated direction. “Roches Point, I imagine; we’re about due at Queenstown ...”
“As late as that?” The girl moved as if to rise. Staff jumped up and offered her a hand. In a moment she was standing beside him. “I must go below,” said she. “Good night.”
“You won’t tell me who it was in Lucille’s, yesterday?” he harked back pleadingly.
She shook her head gaily as she turned forward to the main companionway entrance: “No; you must find out for yourself.”
“But perhaps it isn’t a practical joke?”
“Then—perhaps—I shall tell you all—sometime.”