"Really, Mr. Crawshay," she said, "I think that you are one of the most inquisitive people I ever met." "It really isn't inquisitiveness," he protested. "It's just obstinacy. I hate to leave a problem unexplained." "Then to prevent any further misunderstanding, Mr. Crawshay," she concluded, a little coldly, "let me tell you that there are private reasons which make any further questioning on your part, concerning this matter, impertinent." Crawshay lifted his cap. He had the air of a man who has received a rebuff which he takes in ill part. "I will not risk your further displeasure, Miss Beverley," he said, stopping by his steamer chair. "I trust that you will enjoy the remainder of your promenade. Good morning!" He summoned the deck steward to arrange his rugs, and lay back in his steamer chair, eating broth which he loathed, and watching Jocelyn Thew and Katharine Beverley through spectacles which somewhat impaired his vision. The two had strolled together to the side of the ship to watch a shoal of porpoises go by. "I see that you are acquainted with our hero of the seaplane," Jocelyn Thew remarked. She nodded. "I met him once at Washington and once at the polo games." "Tell me what you think of him?" She smiled. "Well," she confessed, "I scarcely know how to think of him. I must say, though, that in a general way I should think any profession would suit him better than diplomacy." "You find him stupid?" "I do," she admitted, "and in a particularly British way." Jocelyn glanced thoughtfully across at Crawshay, who was contemplating his empty cup with apparent regret. "You will not think that I am taking a liberty, Miss Beverley, if I ask you a question?" "Why should I? Is it so very personal?" "As a matter of fact, it isn't personal at all. I was only going to ask you if you would mind telling me what our friend Mr. Crawshay was talking to you about just now?" "Are you really interested?" she asked, with an air of faint surprise. "Well, if you must know, he was asking questions about my patient. He appears to be something of a hypochondriac himself, and he is very interested in illnesses." "He has the air of one who takes care of himself," Jocelyn observed, with a faint smile. "However, one mustn't judge. He may be delicate." "I think he is an old woman," she remarked carelessly. "He rather gives one that impression, doesn't he?" Jocelyn agreed. "By-the-by, there wasn't much you could tell him about your patient, was there?" "There really isn't anything at all," she replied. "I just mentioned his condition, and as Mr. Crawshay still seemed curious, I reminded him that it was not etiquette to question a nurse about her patients."