"Hello, Olivia," said Ogilvie, standing very straight. He looked rather wistful, I thought.
"Hello," she said, neither turning her head nor lifting her eyes. It was the essence of indifference. "What are you doing here?"
It was more than indifference. It was as if Ogilvie bored her. My gorge began to rise, and my color rose a little, I am afraid, and I moved my chair, so that Eve looked over at me. I felt, I suppose, much as Captain Fergus did, when he said that Elizabeth was more of a favorite of his than some others.
Ogilvie seemed to be familiar with that attitude of Olivia's, for he smiled faintly, and stepped back.
"Nothing much," he said; "just cruising—cursing about the bay. Like Captain Cook, who went cursing about the Pacific Ocean. That's what you said in school, Olivia. Remember?"
"If I don't," Olivia flung back petulantly, "it isn't because I haven't been reminded of it."
Elizabeth raised her head and sent forth a merry peal of laughter.
"Oh, Olivia, did you really? When was it? Oh, that's too good to keep."
Olivia was picking at the deck of the launch. There may have been a speck of dust there.
"I suppose I did. It was when I was very small, and the teacher asked me what Captain Cook did, and 'cruise' looked like 'curse' to me. But if you ever tell, Elizabeth," she flared out, "I'll never forgive you."