A waiter appeared
on the instant.
"Give us more light, waiter," was her command, "and serve dinner at
once."
The lights went up, and Robin looked into her soft, smiling eyes.
"It doesn't matter," he whispered hoarsely. "I don't care what
happens to me, Bedelia, I--I shall never give you up. You are worth
all the kingdoms in the world. You are the loveliest, most adorable--
"
"Hush! The eyes of your people are upon you. See! Even the waiter
recognises his prince. He is overcome. Ah! He falters with the
consomme. It is a perilous moment. There! I knew something would
happen, poor fellow. He has spilled--but, all is well; he has his
wits again. See! He replenishes from the steaming tureen. We are
saved."
Her mood was so gaily satiric, so inconsequential, that he allowed a
wondering, uncertain smile to banish the trouble from his eyes as he
leaned back in the chair and studied the vivid, excited face of the
girl who had created havoc with his senses. She was dressed as he had
seen her on board the _Jupiter_ during those delightful days on
deck: the same trim figure in a blue serge suit and a limp white hat,
drawn well down over her soft brown hair, with the smart red tie and
the never-to-be-forgotten scent of a perfume that would linger in his
nostrils forever and forever.
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