'Well,' he said, 'you, at least, do not seem to be suffering any anxiety because of our situation.'
'Really,' she replied, 'I was not thinking of that at all, but about something else. Can you not guess what it is?'
'No,' he answered hesitatingly. 'What is it?'
'Have you forgotten that this is Sunday morning?'
'Is it? Of course it is. So far as I am concerned, time seemed to stop when the engines broke down. But I do not understand why Sunday morning means anything in particular.'
'Don't you? Well, for a person who has been thinking for the last two or three days very earnestly on one particular subject, I am astonished at you. Sunday morning and no land in sight! Reflect for a moment.'
Kenyon's face brightened.
'Ah,' he cried, 'I see what you mean now! Miss Brewster's cable message will not appear in this morning's New York Argus.'
'Of course it will not; and don't you see, also, that when we do arrive you will have an equal chance in the race. If we get in before next Sunday, your telegram to the London people will go as quickly as her cable despatch to New York; thus you will be saved the humiliation of seeing the substance of your report in the London papers before the directors see the report itself. It is not much, to be sure, but, still, it puts you on equal terms; while if we had got into Queenstown last night that would have been impossible.'
Kenyon laughed.