three late risers were drinking a last cup of coffee. Then she told him
of the mistake she had made, and together they scanned their
fellow-passengers in search of the man who occupied the stateroom
adjoining hers on the left. He did not appear for luncheon or dinner,
and Hugh cheerfully accused her of murdering him.

The next morning, however, he was seated at the table, directly across
from Hugh, a trifle pale and far from hungry. He was making a brave
effort to conquer the sickness which had seized him. She nudged Hugh and
nodded toward the quiet, subdued eater. He looked across and then gave
her a questioning glance. She winked affirmatively.

"Poor devil," muttered Hugh. "I suppose he was just beginning to feel
sick when you yanked him out, as if you were telling him the boat was
on fire."

"Yanked him out? I did nothing but rap on his door. If he were sick, why
did he open it and stare at me in such a remarkably healthy fashion?"

"Because you rapped, I suspect. It's no wonder that he stared at a
beautiful young lady who had the temerity to visit him before breakfast.
Nice-looking fellow, though, I'll say that much for your sake, sister.
And what's more, I believe he's an American," said Hugh, surveying the
stranger critically.

"I haven't observed his face," she responded curtly.

"How did you happen to recognize him? By his shoes? You naturally looked
down when you saw your mistake, of course, but I don't see how you can
get a glance of his shoes now, under the table."