A steward was
arranging tea for two at a small table. The _Kansas_, with placid hum
of engines, was speeding evenly through an azure sea.
"I agree with that opinion most heartily, though, to be sure, so much
depends on the weather," replied her friend, Elsie Maxwell, rising to
pour out the tea. Already the brisk sea-breeze had kissed the Chilean
pallor from Elsie's face, which had regained its English peach-bloom.
Isobel Baring's complexion was tinged with the warmth of a pomegranate.
At sea, even in the blue Pacific, she carried with her the suggestion
of a tropical garden.
"I never gave a thought to the weather," purred Isobel again, as she
subsided more deeply into the cushions.
"Let us hope such a blissful state of mind may be justified. But you
know, dear, we may run into a dreadful gale before we reach the
Straits."
Isobel laughed.
"All the better!" she cried. "People tell me I am a most fascinating
invalid. I look like a creamy orchid. And what luck to have a chum so
disinterested as you where a lot of nice men are concerned! What have
I done to deserve it? Because you are really charming, you know.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25