s party
found them, a thousand couples more or less, each couple sitting
somewhat apart from its neighbours, but frightfully close to itself.

"I suppose they're all engaged," Rosie remarked to Tom Sullivan, and
even in the moonlight Tom blushed furiously.

George and Janet found the unoccupied half of a deck bench, not too far
from the rail, and Rosie and Tom seated themselves on campstools some
distance behind. They were pretty far in on deck and so could see very
little beyond the backs of the great half circle of couples. But backs,
in their way, are very expressive, and Rosie soon found herself deeply
interested in the romances of which these various backs were soon giving
most unmistakable hints. Every couple that sat down seemed to go through
precisely the same emotional experience. A properly equipped
statistician could soon have reduced the whole thing to a matter of
minutes and seconds.

Take what would be an average couple: They seat themselves like ordinary
people in their right minds and, for a moment, that is what you suppose
they really are. But only for a moment. Although they may be the only
couple on the bench, almost immediately you see them crowding against
each other as if to make room for a fat lady with a baby. Then to get
more room the man drops his arm--the arm next the girl--over the back of
the bench, where it lies a few moments lifeless and inert. The position
is uncomfortable, evidently, for soon he tries to bring it back. Too
late. The invisible fat lady with the baby has, in the meantime, wedged
the girl right under the man's shoulder, and his arm and hand, in
circling back, circle naturally about her. She, poor little soul, seems
not to know what has happened. Her tired head sinks like a weary
bird--sinks on his breast. She sleeps. At any rate, she looks like it.
Then she wakes. She wakes gradually. Her profile slowly rises and, as it
rises, lo! his descends until--until--Well, you know what always occurs
when his profile meets her profile full-face.

Every time they saw it happen, Rosie held her breath for a moment, then
murmured: "They must be engaged, too!"

Tom Sullivan stood it as long as he could, then burst out: "Aw, go on!
You don't have to be engaged to kiss!"

Rosie looked at him, scandalized and shocked. "Why, Tom Sullivan, how
you talk! You ought to be ashamed o' yourself!"

"Well, you don't!" Tom insisted doggedly.

Rosie, drawing herself away from a person of such f