"But the bouquet?" suggested De Vere, curiously.
"Oh, I bought that for my charge," replied Lancaster, airily.
"Rank extravagance! And didn't you know more about the tastes of babies than that, my dear fellow? A rattle would have been a more appropriate and pleasing selection. You know what the poet says:
"'Pleased with a rattle,
Tickled with a straw.'"
"Yes, I remembered that just as I came aboard, and I was so vexed at my foolish bouquet that I tossed it overboard," Lancaster replied, with the utmost coolness.
He sat down, lighted a weed, and leaning over the rail, watched the deep, white furrows cut in the heaving sea by the bounding ship. His thoughts reverted provokingly to Leonora West.
"What is she doing? Will she come on deck this evening? Did she think I would not call for her, or did she come down first with malice prepense?" he asked himself, one question after another revolving busily through his brain.
Lieutenant De Vere's gay voice jarred suddenly on his musings:
"Tell you what, old fellow, you missed something by not coming aboard with me. I formed a charming acquaintance this afternoon."