She heard him groan with rage. When she looked up he pointed to the submarine record of that week.
“Last week the losses took a horrible jump––forty ships of over sixteen hundred tons. This week it’s almost as bad––thirty-eight ships of over sixteen hundred, thirteen ships under, and eight fishing-vessels. Think of it––all of ’em merchant-ships!
“Pretty soon I’ve got to send my ship out to run the gantlet. She’s like Little Red Riding Hood going through the forest to take old Granny Britain some food. And the wolves are waiting for her. What a race of people, what a pack of beasts!”
Marie Louise had an idea. “I’ll tell you a pretty name for your ship––Little Red Riding Hood. Why don’t you give her that?”
He laughed. “The name would be heavier than the cargo. I wonder what the crew would make of it. No, this ship, my first one, is to be named after”––he lowered his voice as one does on entering a church––“after my mother.”
“Oh, that’s beautiful!” Marie Louise said. “And will she be there to christen–– Oh, I remember, you said––”
He nodded three or four times in wretchedness. But the grief was his own, and he must not exploit it. He assumed an abrupt cheer.
“I’ll name the next ship after you, if you don’t mind.”
This was too glorious to be believed. What bouquet or jewel could equal it? She clapped her hands like a child hearing a Christmas promise.
“What is your first name, Miss Webling?”