The Tyro sought out his deck-chair and relapsed into immitigable boredom. He was not the only person aboard to be dissatisfied with the way affairs were developing. As an amateur Cupid, Judge Enderby had been fancying himself quite decidedly. Noting, however, that there had been absolutely no communication between his two young clients that day, he began to distrust his diplomacy, and he set about the old, familiar problem of administering impetus to inertia. Sad though I am to say it of so eminent a member of the bar, his method perilously approached betrayal of a client's confidence.
It was after his evening set-to at bridge, when, coming on deck for a good-night sniff of air, he encountered the Tyro who was lugubriously contemplating the moon.
"Hah!" he greeted. "How's the dumb palsy?"
"Worse," was the morose reply.
"Haven't seen your pretty little acquaintance about to-day. Have you?"
"No."
"Don't swear at me, young man," reproved the lawyer, mildly.
"I didn't swear at you, sir," said the startled Tyro.
"Not in words, but in tone. Not that I blame you for being put out. At your age, to miss the sun from out of the heavens—and Miss Wayne is certainly a fascinating and dangerous young person. Considering that she is barely twenty-one, it is quite remarkable."
"Remarkable?" repeated the Tyro vaguely.