’ Gerald grinned. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. “What do you mean?” she asked. ” He stopped abruptly. He loved the sea, and could give a good account of himself in any weather. Danger, the most terrible she had ever faced, was substantially in this room. What more could any reasonable man— especially a watchman—desire? Besides, the Marquis, is a devilish fine fellow, and a particular friend of mine. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. It wasn’t clear to me that I had to explain. . CHAPTER XVIII.
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