"Because it is the way of young male passengers on long voyages," she
replied.
"Then others have . . . ?"
"They always do," she assured me gravely.
And at that instant I knew the first ridiculous pang of jealousy; but
I laughed it away and retorted:
"It was an ancient Chinese philosopher who is first recorded as
having said, what doubtlessly the cave men before him gibbered,
namely, that a woman pursues a man by fluttering away in advance of
him."
"Wretch!" she cried. "I never fluttered. When did I ever flutter!"
"It is a delicate subject . . . " I began with assumed hesitancy.
"When did I ever flutter?" she demanded.
I availed myself of one of Schopenhauer's ruses by making a shift.
"From the first you observed nothing that a female could afford to
miss observing," I charged. "I'll wager you knew as quickly as I the
very instant when I first loved you."
"I knew the first time you hated me," she evaded.
"Yes, I know, the first time I saw you and learned that you were
coming on the voyage," I said.
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