It was on the third or the fourth morning following the day on which we had passed the island of Madeira—that is to say, on which we had crossed the parallel of latitude on which the island of Madeira lies—that, being in my cabin where I had passed ten minutes in gossip with the stewardess, the door was thumped by a fist which I easily recognised as Mr. McEwan’s, and the ship’s doctor entered.
‘Good morning.’
‘Good morning, Mr. McEwan.’
‘I am the bearer of a message,’ said he. ‘I have told Miss Lee that she may go on deck this morning, and Mrs. Lee has asked me to request you to accompany her daughter.’
‘I will do so with pleasure,’ I exclaimed. ‘I am very glad you have given her permission to go on deck at last. How do you think Miss Lee is?’
‘How do I think Miss Lee is? How do I think Miss Lee is? Ask after yoursel’. How are you?’
‘I feel very much better. I am still very nervous, but less so than I was. Do you think, Mr. McEwan, that the hair upon my eyebrow will ever grow again?’
‘That will be, as you shall see,’ said he. ‘I trust it may; for there is undoubtedly an advantage in two eyebrows.’
‘You do not answer my question?’
‘I believe it may grow,’ he exclaimed. ‘If not, eyebrows are cheap to buy. There are plenty of mice, and mouse-skins are a drug. How’s your hair? Does it continue to thin?’