crudity." And so I made a little
experiment for myself.

"I wonder if men seem as similar in making love as women do in receiving
it?"

"They aren't!" shouted both John and Kitty, in the same indignant
breath. Their noise brought Bohm to listen to us.

This experiment was so much a success that I promptly made another
for the special benefit of Bohm, Kitty's next husband. I find it often
delightful to make a little gratuitous mischief, just to watch the
victims. I addressed Kitty. "What would you do if a man said he could
drown in your hair as joyfully as the Duke of Clarence did in his butt
of Malmsey?"

"Why--why--" gasped Kitty, "why--why--"

I suppose it gave John time; but even so he was splendid.

"She has heard it said!" This was his triumphant shout. I should not
have supposed that Kitty could have turned any redder, but she did. John
buried his nose in his tall glass, and gulped a choking quantity of its
contents, and mopped his face profusely; but little good that effected.
There sat this altogether innocent pair, deeply suffused with the
crimson of apparent guilt, and there stood Kitty's next husband, eyeing
them suspiciously. My little gratuitous mischief was a perfect success,
and remains with me as one of the bright spots in this day of pleasure.

Vivacious measures from the piano brought Kitty to her feet.

"There's Gazza!" she cried. "We'll make him sing!" And on the instant
she was gone down the companionway. Bohm followed her with a less
agitated speed, and soon all were gone below, leaving John and me alone
on the deck, sitting together in silence.

John lolled back in his chair, slowly sipping at his tall glass, and
neither of us made any remark. I think he wanted to ask me how I came to
mention the Duke of Clarence; but I did not see how he very well could,
and he certainly made no attempt to do so. Thus did we sit for some
time, hearing the piano and the company grow livelier and louder with
solos, and choruses, and laughter. By and by the shadow of the awning
shifted, causing me to look up, when I saw the shores slowly changing;
the tide had turned, and was beginning to run out. Land and water lay
in immense peace; the long, white, silent picture of the town with its
steeples on the one hand, and on the other the long, low shore, and the
trees behind. Into this rose the high voice of Gazza, singing in broken
English, "Razzla-dazzla, razzla-dazzla," while his hearers beat upon
glasses wi