“Your handsome neighbour isn’t on deck?”
“Isn’t he?” said Isabelle. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Mrs. Darlington stared, laughed, retreated and the story went the rounds. It amused O’Leary, and it also piqued him. He was used to being noticed by ladies in his vicinity. He made up his mind that he would make that girl look at him. He intended to lay siege to Miss Watts, but he came upon Isabelle unattended, in deep contemplation of the sea, and he promptly sat down beside her.
“I beg pardon, Miss Bryce, but are you Irish?” he said deliberately.
She turned big, enquiring eyes upon him.
“No. Why?”
“I thought nobody could be as sad as you look except an Irishman.”
“I’m not Irish,” she said, and returned her gaze to the sea.
“I am,” he exclaimed.
No answer.