“Well, then, I think I was not such a failure after all yesterday morning, for you certainly looked very neat and pretty.”
“Then, if I did, Mr. Morris, do not flatter yourself it was at all on account of your disposal of the rugs, for the moment you had left a very handsome young lady came along, and, looking at me, said, with such a pleasant smile, ‘Why, what a pretty rug you have there; but how the steward has bungled it about you! Let me fix it,’ and with that she gave it a touch here and a smooth down there, and the result was really so nice that I hated to go down to breakfast. It is a pity you went away so quickly yesterday morning. You might have had an opportunity of becoming acquainted with the lady, who is, I think, the prettiest girl on board this ship.”
“Do you?” said Mr. Morris, shortly.
“Yes, I do. Have you noticed her? She sits over there at the long table near the centre. You must have seen her; she is so very, very pretty, that you cannot help noticing her.”
“I am not looking after pretty women this voyage,” said Morris, savagely.
“Oh, are you not? Well, I must thank you for that. That is evidently a very sincere compliment. No, I can’t call it a compliment, but a sincere remark, I think the first sincere one you have made to-day.”
“Why, what do you mean?” said Morris, looking at her in a bewildered sort of way.
“You have been looking after me this morning, have you not, and yesterday morning? And taking ever so much pains to be helpful and entertaining, and now, all at once you say—Well, you know what you said just now.”
“Oh yes. Well, you see—”
“Oh, you can’t get out of it, Mr. Morris. It was said, and with evident sincerity.”