"If you don't leave me alone I shall go. I didn't sleep till nearly daylight."
"I didn't sleep for quite an hour, either," he said sympathetically. "I say, isn't it funny, Louie, when you come to think of it, that till a week ago I hadn't thought of you for years?"
"Oh, I wasn't lying awake thinking of you," she said bluntly.
"I was of you." He put out his hand again.
His approach only made her impatient. "Oh, don't!" she snapped. "Really I shall get up and go if you worry me."
He was, as he would have put it, "keen": keen enough to begin to sulk. She let him sulk, and watched the sea, always of a milky bloom, and the sky, still of the hue of an infant's eyeball. After some minutes she turned to him again.
"What do people get paid?" she asked abruptly.
"What people?" He spoke over his shoulder.
"Oh, people—you know what I mean!"
"We get dashed little, I know that." (He was going into the army.) "What sort of people? Servants and those?"