“Nineteen,” she answered, “but it isn’t any business of yours.”

“No business of mine!” he repeated.  “Heavens!  Isn’t it the business of any man to look after a child like you?  Nineteen years old, indeed, and most of them spent in a farmhouse!  How do you know that these things which you talk about doing are right or necessary?  Don’t you see you are not old enough to be a judge of the serious things of life?  You want some one to take care of you, Virginia.  Will you marry me?”

“Will I what?” she gasped.

“Wasn’t I explicit enough?” he asked.  “I said marry me.”

She would have risen from her chair, but he calmly took her arm and drew her down again.

“I will not stay here,” she declared, “and hear you talk such rubbish.”

“It is not rubbish,” he answered, “but I will admit that I should not have said anything about it yet, if it had not been for your vague threats of what you were going to do.  Virginia,” he added, dropping his voice almost to a whisper, “you know that I am fond of you.  I have been fond of you ever since I first saw you here.”

“Six days ago,” she murmured drearily.

“Six days or six weeks, it’s all the same,” he declared.  “I wasn’t going to say anything just yet, but I can’t bear the thought of leaving you at Liverpool, in a strange country, and without any friends.  Be sensible, dear, and tell me all about it later on.  First of all, I want my answer.”

“Is that necessary?” she replied quietly.  “Even in America, we don’t promise to marry people whom we have known but six days.”

“Wait until you have known me longer, then,” he answered, “but give me at least the chance of knowing you.”

“You are a very foolish person,” she said, a little more kindly.  “You do not know who I am, or anything about me.  Some day or other you will be very glad that I did not take advantage of your kindness.”

“You think that I ask you this,” he said, “because I am sorry for you?”

“I don’t want to think about it at all,” she answered, rising.  “I am not going to sit here any longer.  We will walk a while, if you like.”

They paced together up and down the deck.  She asked him questions about the lights, the landing at Liverpool, the train service to London, and she kept always very near to one of the other promenading couples.  At last she stopped before the companion-way, and held out her hand.

“This must be our good night,” she said, “and good-bye if I do not see anything of you in the morning.  I suppose it will be a terrible crush getting on shore.”

“It will not be good-bye,” he said, “because however great the rush is I shall see you in the morning.  As for the rest, you have been very unkind to me to-night, but I can wait.  London is not a large place.  I dare say we shall meet again.”

The look in her eyes puzzled him no less than her words.