"I did not, sir," Mr. Watson answered. "My engineer reported it so, and, as I know nothing of machinery myself, I was content to take his word. He holds very fine diplomas, and I presume he knows what he is talking about. But anyway Mrs. Watson would never have stayed upon that boat one moment longer than she was compelled. She's a wonderfully nervous woman is Mrs. Watson." "That's a somewhat unusual trait for your countrywoman, is it not?" Mr. Sabin asked. Mr. J. B. Watson looked steadily at his questioner. "My wife, sir," he said, "has lived for many years on the Continent. She would scarcely consider herself an American." "I beg your pardon," Mr. Sabin remarked courteously. "One can see at least that she has acquired the polish of the only habitable country in the world. But if I had taken the liberty of guessing at her nationality, I should have taken her to be a German." Mr. Watson raised his eyebrows, and somehow managed to drop the match he was raising to his cigar. "You astonish me very much, sir," he remarked. "I always looked upon the fair, rotund woman as the typical German face." Mr. Sabin shook his head gently. "There are many types," he said "and nationality, you know, does not always go by complexion or size. For instance, you are very like many American gentlemen whom I have had the pleasure of meeting, but at the same time I should not have taken you for an American." The captain laughed. "I can't agree with you, Mr. Sabin," he said. "Mr. Watson appears to me to be, if he will pardon my saying so, the very type of the modern American man." "I'm much obliged to you, Captain," Mr. Watson said cheerfully. "I'm a Boston man, that's sure, and I believe, sir, I'm proud of it. I want to know for what nationality you would have taken me if you had not been informed?" "I should have looked for you also," Mr. Sabin said deliberately, "in the streets of Berlin." CHAPTER XLII A WEAK CONSPIRATOR At dinner-time Mrs. Watson appeared in a very dainty toilette of black and white, and was installed at the captain's right hand. She was introduced at once to Mr. Sabin, and proceeded to make herself a very agreeable companion. "Why, I call this perfectly delightful!" was almost her first exclamation, after a swift glance at Mr. Sabin's quiet but irreproachable dinner attire. "You can't imagine how pleased I am to find myself once more in civilised society. I was never so dull in my life as on that poky little yacht." "Poky little yacht, indeed!" Mr. Watson interrupted, with a note of annoyance in his tone. "The _Mayflower_ anyway cost me pretty well two hundred thousand dollars, and she's nearly the largest pleasure yacht afloat." "I don't care if she cost you a million dollars," Mrs. Watson answered pettishly. "I never want to sail on her again. I prefer this infinitely."