"His name," said Muriel, "is von Klausen." She hated herself for her unreasonable disinclination to mention the Captain.
"H'm—a diplomat, did you say?"
"As old as most diplomats then, I suppose?"
"No," said Muriel; "he's—he's rather young."
The ship began to descend a lofty wave, and Stainton lay back in his berth. His face, with its full day's growth of beard, looked grey.
"All right," he said. "Run along, dear—and look in about noon."
Muriel obeyed him. Their chairs were well forward, and when she reached them she saw von Klausen again seated in that which bore Stainton's card.
He rose at sight of her. No motion of the boat seemed ever to affect him to awkwardness.
"Your husband," he asked, bareheaded and erect while she seated herself; "he is, I trust, better?"