“No,” said Chris gravely, “that wouldn't do; but—”
“But what, Chris?”
“Oh, never mind! I guess we'll just have to have little talks right here when we can.”
“Well, I guess we won't just have to have anything of the sort,” making up her mind on the instant precisely what steps she would take. “I'll manage that; and now tell me, Chris, how you happen to be on this steamer at all. I thought you were going home this summer?”
“And where do you think home is?”
“Where?” far too eager to waste any time in mere thinking.
“In England, of course.”
“Why, then, I suppose you're English,” she said, with surprise and unconcealed disappointment.
“Why, then, I suppose I am,” Chris answered; “but really, I don't see why you should mind, Marie-Celeste.”
“Oh, I expected they would be different, the real English people—different from us. I had heard they were, and it isn't so interesting to have all the world alike.”