“You need have no fear. I have every respect for a man who tells the truth when he has to.” “Well, I think a school teacher is very apt to get into a certain dictatorial habit of speech. School teachers are something like military men. They are accustomed to implicit obedience without question, and this, I think, affects their manner with other people.” “You think I am dictatorial, then?” “Well, I shouldn’t say that you were dictatorial exactly. But there is a certain confidence—I don’t know just how to express it, but it seems to me, you know—well, I am going deeper and deeper into trouble by what I am saying, so really I shall not say any more. I do not know just how to express it.” “I think you express it very nicely. Go on, please.” “Oh, you are laughing at me now.” “Not at all, I assure you. You were trying to say that I was very dictatorial.” “No, I was trying to say nothing of the kind. I was merely trying to say that you have a certain confidence in yourself and a certain belief that everything you say is perfectly correct, and is not to be questioned. Now, do as you promised, and tell me how near right I am.” “You are entirely wrong. I never taught school.” “Well, Miss Earle, I confessed to my occupation without citing any mitigating circumstances. So now, would you think me impertinent if I asked you to be equally frank?” “Oh, not at all! But I may say at once that I wouldn’t answer you.” “But you will tell me if I guess?” “Yes, I promise that.” “Well, I am certainly right in saying that you are crossing the ocean for pleasure.” “No, you are entirely wrong. I am crossing for business.” “Then, perhaps you cross very often, too?” “No; I crossed only once before, and that was coming the other way.” “Really, this is very mysterious. When are you coming back?” “I am not coming back.” “Oh, well,” said Morris, “I give it up. I think I have scored the unusual triumph of managing to be wrong in everything that I have said. Have I not?” “I think you have.” “And you refuse to put me right?” “Certainly.” “I don’t think you are quite fair, Miss Earle.” “I don’t think I ever claimed to be, Mr. Morris. But I am tired of walking now. You see, I have been walking the deck for considerably longer than you have. I think I shall sit down for a while.” “Let me take you to your chair.” Miss Earle smiled. “It would be very little use,” she said. The deck steward was not to be seen, and Morris, diving into a dark and cluttered-up apartment, in which the chairs were piled, speedily picked out his own, brought it to where the young lady was standing, spread it out in its proper position, and said— “Now let me get you a rug or two.” “You have made a mistake. That is not my chair.” “Oh yes, it is. I looked at the tag. This is your name, is it not?” “Yes, that is my name; but this is not my chair.” “Well, I beg that you will use it until the owner calls for it.” “But who is the owner? Is this your chair?”