They both glanced at the case of books; from which the steward-librarian was setting them the example of reading a volume.

“No, I don’t want to read.  You musn’t let me keep you from it.”

“Well, one can read any time.  But one hasn’t always the chance to say that one is ashamed.  Don’t pretend you don’t understand, Miss Kenton!  I didn’t really mean anything.  The temptation to let you exaggerate my disability was too much for me.  Say that you despise me!  It would be such a comfort.”

“Weren’t you hurt?”

“A little—­a little more than a little, but not half so much as I deserved—­not to the point of not being able to cut up my meat.  Am I forgiven?  I’ll promise to cut up all your meat for you at dinner!  Ah, I’m making it worse!”

“Oh no.  Please don’t speak of it”

“Could you forbid my thinking of it, too?” He did not wait for her to answer.  “Then here goes!  One, two, three, and the thought is banished forever.  Now what shall we speak of, or think of?  We finished up the weather pretty thoroughly this morning.  And if you have not the weather and the ship’s run when you’re at sea, why, you are at sea.  Don’t you think it would be a good plan, when they stick those little flags into the chart, to show how far we’ve come in the last twenty-four hours, if they’d supply a topic for the day?  They might have topics inscribed on the flags-standard topics, that would serve for any voyage.  We might leave port with History—­say, personal history; that would pave the way to a general acquaintance among the passengers.  Then Geography, and if the world is really round, and what keeps the sea from spilling.  Then Politics, and the comparative advantages of monarchical and republican governments, for international discussion.  Then Pathology, and whether you’re usually sea-sick, and if there is any reliable remedy.  Then—­for those who are still up—­Poetry and Fiction; whether women really like Kipling, and what kind of novels you prefer.  There ought to be about ten topics.  These boats are sometimes very slow.  Can’t you suggest something, Miss Kenton?  There is no hurry!  We’ve got four to talk over, for we must bring up the arrears, you know.  And now we’ll begin with personal history.  Your sister doesn’t approve of me, does she?”

“My sister?” Ellen faltered, and, between the conscience to own the fact and the kindness to deny it, she stopped altogether.

“I needn’t have asked.  She told me so herself, in almost as many words.  She said I was slippery, and as close as a trap.  Miss Kenton!  I have the greatest wish to know whether I affect you as both slippery and close!”

“I don’t always know what Lottie means.”

“She means what she says; and I feel that I am under condemnation till I reform.  I don’t know how to stop being slippery, but I’m determined to stop being close.  Will you tell her that for me?  Will you tell her that you never met an opener, franker person?—­of course, except herself!—­and that so far from being light I seemed to you particularly heavy?  Say that I did nothing but talk about myself, and that when you wanted to talk about yourself you couldn’t get in a word edgewise.  Do try, now, Miss Kenton, and see if you can!  I don’t want you to invent a character for me, quite.”