“Well, I suppose they do, as a rule.  The Hascombes are rather different.  Of course there have been a lot of girls who were foolish enough to—­er—­to think—­”

“To think they were in love with you?  Go ahead!  I’ll shut my eyes.”

Instead, she opened them very wide, and he had to unbutton his coat just for the sake of buttoning it up again.

“But I don’t care about them,” she went on; “I want to know if you’ve ever been in love.”

“Imagined I was once.”

“Oh, what fun!  Tell me about it from beginning to end!”

“How do you know it had an end!”

“I’d gamble on it,” said Bobby, confidently.  “But tell me!”

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.