"What?"
"You're very pink and healthy, aren't you?"
He shrugged his accustomed shrug of resignation.
"Oh, I say—come, now——" he murmured, lighting a cigarette.
"What a horrid smash there would be if I didn't make good, wouldn't there, Stirrups?" She mused, her blue eyes resting on him, too coldly.
"Rather," he replied, comfortably settling his arms on the rail.
"It might happen, you know. Suppose I fell overboard?"
"Fish you out, ducky."
"Suppose I—ran away?"
"Ow."