"Señorita!" I murmured, "you leave?"
"Within the week."
"So soon! You go by water. Would that I were a sailor in the West Indian trade!"
She gave me a curious glance. "Why in the West Indian trade?"
"Ships carry passengers. Aboard even the greatest of ships the sailors have glimpses of the passengers."
"Sometimes passengers stay below, in the cabin," she said coldly.
"That may well be in times of storm," I replied. "Then the sailor is above, striving to save those who are in his care from shipwreck. But in the warm waters of the Gulf the passengers show themselves on deck, pleased to leave the narrow bounds of their staterooms."
"There are some who would rather stifle in their staterooms than be stared at by the common herd."
"There are others, born in state, who would rather stand beneath the open sky, side by side with a true man, than share the tinsel display of kings," I persisted.
"Rousseau is somewhat out of style."