The scrubbing-brushes on the deck above him woke Kenyon early next
morning. For a few moments after getting on deck he thought he had the
ship to himself. One side of the deck was clean and wet; on the other
side the men were slowly moving the scrubbing-brushes backward and
forward, with a drowsy swish-swish. As he walked up the deck, he saw
there was one passenger who had been earlier than himself.
Edith Longworth turned round as she heard his step, and her face
brightened into a smile when she saw who it was.
Kenyon gravely raised his steamer cap and bade her 'Good-morning.'
'You are an early riser, Mr. Kenyon.'
'Not so early as you are, I see.'
'I think I am an exceptional passenger in that way,' replied the girl. 'I
always enjoy the early morning at sea. I like to get as far forward on
the steamer as possible, so that there is nothing between me and the
boundless anywhere. Then it seems as if the world belongs to myself, with
nobody else in it.'
'Isn't that a rather selfish view?' put in Kenyon.
'Oh, I don't think so. There is certainly nothing selfish in my
enjoyment of it; but, you know, there are times when one wishes to be
alone, and to forget everybody.'
'I hope I have not stumbled upon one of those times.'
'Oh, not at all, Mr. Kenyon,' replied his companion, laughing. 'There
was nothing personal in the remark. If I wished to be alone, I would
have no hesitation in walking off. I am not given to hinting; I speak
plainly--some of my friends think a little too plainly.
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