Man is a stupid animal. I did not know at the moment, nor did I learn until long after,—and even then it was a lady who told me,—that this was a sweet dismissal, as effective as it was unperceived by myself.
Miss Hemster busied herself with the fleecy wrap, whose folds proved so unmanageable that I ventured to offer my aid and finally adjusted the fabric upon her shapely shoulders. We began walking up and down the deck, she regulating her step to mine, and, in the friendly manner of yesterday afternoon, placing her hand within my arm.
However, she did not hop and skip along the deck as she had done on the streets of Nagasaki, although I should have thought the smooth white boards offered an almost irresistible temptation to one who had shown herself to be bubbling over with the joy of youth and life. Notwithstanding the taking of my arm, she held herself with great dignity, her head erect and almost thrown back, so I expected to be treated to a new phase of her most interesting character. I was finding it somewhat bewildering, and hardly knew how to begin the conversation; but whether it was the springing step, or the smoothness of the deck, or both combined, it struck me all at once that she must be a superb dancer, and I was about to make inquiry as to this when she withdrew her hand rather quickly after we had taken two or three turns up and down the deck in silence, and said:
“You are not taking advantage of the opportunity I have been kind enough to present to you.”
“What opportunity?” I asked in amazement.
“The opportunity to apologize to me.”
“To apologize?” cried I, still more at a loss to understand her meaning. “Pray, for what should I apologize?”
She said with great decision and some impatience:
“How terribly dense you Englishmen are!”
“Yes, I admit it. We are celebrated as a nation for obtuseness. But won’t you take pity on this particular Englishman, and enlighten him regarding his offence. What should I apologize for?”