I hesitated, all my assurance melting away.
“I suppose the terrible gods of French etiquette would rock on their thrones if I stayed, too—”
“I should feel very conspicuous.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I knew you would feel that way.”
My tone fell, in such unconcealed chagrin that she could not help noticing it. She sat up and glanced down the deck. Other groups, yielding to the sunlight which poured over the dancing ocean and flung rainbows in the spray, were preparing to picnic above.
“It is the last day,” I repeated.
“Please—I should like if you will stay,” she said, all at once, and then blushed and looked away.
I affected not to notice her confusion and busied myself with a serious contemplation of the menu.
“There, it’ll be just like a meal at the front! Not quite so good cooking as at one of your little country inns. Do you know, what you said the other day’s been in my mind?”
“What was that?”