“No; I lie where I fall and abide in my misery until my journey’s end. Sic transit is my motto; and sick it always is, too.”
“You’ll get wet through if you stay on deck to-night. Why don’t you try a private cabin? They’re comfortable.”
“To tell the plain but honest truth,” said Lucian, cheerfully leaning back and stretching a pair of muddy boots on the opposite seat, “because I’m clean cleaned out. I’ve nothing but my fare up from Dover.”
“I see.”
The stranger stood up to lift down his bag and put on his overcoat, in all of which actions he was as neat and quiet and dainty as a cat. After a short pause he turned to Lucian again and said, with some hesitation, “I shall have a deck cabin myself; will you share it?”
“I shall be awfully ill,” said Lucian, very much amazed.
“So shall I.”
“Well, under those circumstances you may be grateful and comforting; I’m disgusting. Sure you want me?”
“If I did not I should not have asked you,” said the stranger concisely.
“It’s really remarkably good of you.”