Just why Percival at this moment felt a sudden desire to discuss a
subject that hitherto he had shrunk from the slightest reference to can
be explained only by the fact that the confiding of an unhappy love
affair to a sympathetic member of the opposite sex seems a necessary
stage of convalescence. It was the first chance he had had to present
his version of the story to an unbiased listener, and if he omitted
certain details, and laid undue stress upon others, it must not be held
against him.

"Of course," he said in conclusion, "through a sense of honor I'd have
gone through with it. Fortunately, it was not necessary. Poor girl broke
it off herself."

He spoke as of one who had committed suicide, but in regard to whom a
kindly jury would have brought in a verdict of temporary insanity.

"Well, I think you were perfectly splendid, all through," cried Bobby.
"What sort of a girl could she have been to act like that?"

He took several long, satisfying pulls at his cigar; it was astonishing
how much he was enjoying it, and the conversation as well.

"Oh, she's quite one of the best, you know. Dare say she thought it was
all my fault."

"The idea! Was she pretty?"

"Opinions differ."

"Smart?"

"Rather!"

"Jolly?"

"Well, no, not exactly jolly; that's not quite the word."

"Very proper, I suppose,"

"Oh, yes, absolutely; most decidedly so. Perfect stickler for form."

Bobby sighed.

"Just the opposite from me all the way through. Well, I'm glad you
wouldn't make up. Serves her right."

"Probably best for everybody," said Percival. "Now it's your turn. How
about yourself!"

"Well," she said with what struck him as the strangest irrelevance, "our
scheme seems to be working with the captain. We've got him guessing. He
told me last night I was not to go to the prow with you again."

"Why not?"

"He thinks you like me too much."

"What do _you_ think?"

Percival bit his lip the moment he had asked it, but leaning there on
the railing, with her dancing eyes on a level with his own, and nothing
else on the entire horizon, it was difficult to keep the situation in
hand.

"I think you are getting a bully tan," she said, scrutinizing him
closely; "most men get a red nose or else they get all speckled around
the edges. Yours looks like a nice crust on an apple pie."

"I do tan rather decently," he said; "but you haven't told me what you
think."

"What about?"

"About my liking you too much."

"