" My sudden emergence from the
companion-way, where I was lighting a cigarette, brought red
confusion into the young person's cheeks.
"How old do you think I am?" I asked.
"Oh, about sixty," quoth the damsel.
"I'm glad I'm quaint and gentle, even though I do talk rot," said
I.
With the resourcefulness of her nation she linked her arm in mine
and started a confidential walk up and down the deck.
"You are just a dear," she remarked.
She could not have said more to Anastasius Dose had he been
there; as far as I can recollect he must just then have been
dying of the Inevitable in Iceland. Perhaps the few months had
brought me to resemble him. Instinctively I put my hand to my
head to reassure myself that I was not wearing a rakish little
soft felt hat with a partridge-feather, and I reflected with some
complacency that my rimless pince-nez did not give me the owlish
appearance produced by Anastasius Dose's great round, iron-rimmed
goggles. From such crumbs of vanity are we sometimes reduced to
take comfort.
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