She shook her head mournfully. “And I am getting so hungry.”
I suggested that there were restaurants in London.
“But I have no money,” she objected. “No money and nothing at all but this.” She designated her dress. “Isn’t it ugly?”
“It is decidedly not becoming,” I admitted.
“Well, what must I do? You tell me and I do it. If you don’t tell me, I must die.”
She leaned back placidly, having thus put upon my shoulders the responsibility of her existence. I did not know which to admire more, her cool assurance or the stoic fortitude with which she faced dissolution.
“I can give you some money to keep you going for a day or two,” said I, “but as for finding Harry, without knowing his name—”
“After all I don’t want so very much to find him,” said this amazing young person. “He made me stay in my cabin all the time I was in the steamer. At first I was glad, for it went up and down, side to side, and I thought I would die, for I was so sick; but afterwards I got better—”
“But where did you come from?” I asked.
“From Alexandretta.”