“No. You can even smoke, if that will heighten the illusion.”
“It will make it reality. But you don’t mean it?”
“Yes; why not?”
“I don’t know. But I couldn’t have dreamt of smoking in your presence. And we take the liberty to dream very strange things.”
“Yes,” she said, “it’s shocking what things we do dream of people. But am I so forbidding?” she asked, a little sadly.
“Not now,” said Libby. He got out a pouch of tobacco and some cigarette papers, and putting the tiller under his arm, he made himself a cigarette.
“You seem interested,” he said, as he lifted his eyes from his work, on which he found her intent, and struck his fusee.
“I was admiring your skill,” she answered.
“Do you think it was worth a voyage to South America?”
“I shouldn’t have thought the voyage was necessary.”