“So I understand,” replied Miss Earle. “Mr. Morris, I wish you a very good evening.” And before he could say a word she had disappeared in the darkness, leaving him to ponder bitterly over the events of the evening. Sixth Day In the vague hope of meeting Miss Earle, Morris rose early, and for a while paced the deck alone; but she did not appear. Neither did he have the pleasure of her company at breakfast. The more the young man thought of their interview of the previous evening, the more puzzled he was. Miss Earle had frankly confessed that she thought a great deal of him, and yet she had treated him with an unfeelingness which left him sore and bitter. She might have refused him; that was her right, of course. But she need not have done it so sarcastically. He walked the deck after breakfast, but saw nothing of Miss Earle. As he paced up and down, he met the very person of all others whom he did not wish to meet. “Good morning, Mr. Morris,” she said lightly, holding out her hand. “Good morning,” he answered, taking it without much warmth. “You are walking the deck all alone, I see. May I accompany you?” “Certainly,” said the young man, and with that she put her hand on his arm and they walked together the first two rounds without saying anything to each other. Then she looked up at him, with a bright smile, and said, “So she refused you?” “How do you know?” answered the young man, reddening and turning a quick look at her. “How do I know?” laughed the other. “How should I know?” For a moment it flashed across his mind that Miss Katherine Earle had spoken of their interview of last night; but a moment later he dismissed the suspicion as unworthy. “How do you know?” he repeated. “Because I was told so on very good authority.” “I don’t believe it.” “Ha, ha! now you are very rude. It is very rude to say to a lady that she doesn’t speak the truth.” “Well, rude or not, you are not speaking the truth. Nobody told you such a thing.” “My dear George, how impolite you are. What a perfect bear you have grown to be. Do you want to know who told me?” “I don’t care to know anything about it.” “Well, nevertheless, I shall tell you. _You_ told me.” “I did? Nonsense, I never said anything about it.” “Yes, you did. Your walk showed it. The dejected look showed it, and when I spoke to you, your actions, your tone, and your words told it to me plainer than if you had said, ‘I proposed to Miss Earle last night and I was rejected.’ You poor, dear innocent, if you don’t brighten up you will tell it to the whole ship.” “I am sure, Blanche, that I am very much obliged to you for the interest you take in me. Very much obliged, indeed.”