Chris glanced significantly at the gate between them.
“Oh!” beginning to understand; “don't they allow that to be opened?”
“No, they don't,” and Chris colored up a little in spite of himself; “but of course it's all right. I couldn't afford to travel first class, and I don't belong there anyway.”
“But you could easily get over that little gate,” said Marie-Celeste mischievously, and yet soberly too, for she foresaw what innumerable good times would be interfered with if Chris must stay in one place and she in another.
“No,” said Chris gravely, “that wouldn't do; but--”
“Oh, never mind! I guess we'll just have to have little talks right here when we can.”
“Well, I guess we won't just have to have anything of the sort,” making up her mind on the instant precisely what steps she would take. “I'll manage that; and now tell me, Chris, how you happen to be on this steamer at all. I thought you were going home this summer?”
“Where?” far too eager to waste any time in mere thinking.
“Why, then, I suppose you're English,” she said, with surprise and unconcealed disappointment.
“Why, then, I suppose I am,” Chris answered; “but really, I don't see why you should mind, Marie-Celeste.”
“Oh, I expected they would be different, the real English people--different from us. I had heard they were, and it isn't so interesting to have all the world alike.”
“Well, I wouldn't give up hope quite yet,” said Chris, very much amused; “you see, I'm not exactly real English, I've been in the States so long;” and when Marie-Celeste came to think of it, there was some comfort in that.
Meantime, a number of passengers had come on to the decks of both cabins, and a few moments later the little buglers appeared simultaneously on both sides of the saloon, and the call for breakfast rang out on the still sea air.
“There's something English for you,” said Chris.
“Why, so they do!” for the little buglers were obligingly repeating their strain, and Marie-Celeste discovered for herself that they fitted the notes exactly.
“What's 'skilly?'” she asked presently, as Chris expected she would.
“Well, it's a kind of stew that the soldiers' wives make. It's cheap and nourishing. We don't have anything just like it in America that I know of.”