"Pardon me, Miss MacAllister! Is there any way in which I can be of service to you?"
The young lady addressed turned quickly from the deck-rail on which she had been leaning, and with a defiant toss of her head faced her questioner. A hot flush of resentment chased from her face the undeniable pallor of a moment before.
"In what way do you think you can be of service to me, Mr. Sinclair?" she demanded sharply.
"And is it so uncommon to be sea-sick, or is it such a dangerous ailment, that at the first symptom the patient must be cared for as if she had the plague?"
"Perhaps not! But I am told that it is uncomfortable."
There was a humorous twinkle in his eyes. At the sight of it hers flashed, and the flame of her anger rose higher.
"From that I am to understand, Mr. Sinclair, that you are one of those superior beings who never suffer from sea-sickness."
"I must confess to belonging to that class," he replied good-humouredly. "I have never experienced its qualms."
"Then I abominate such people. They call themselves 'good sailors.' They offer sympathy to others, and all the while are laughing in their sleeves. They are insufferable prigs. I want none of their sympathy."
"But, Miss MacAllister, you misunderstand me. I am not offering you empty sympathy. I am a medical doctor, and for the present am in charge of the health of the passengers on this ship."
"Then, Dr. Sinclair, I am not in need of your care. I never yet saw a doctor who could do anything for sea-sickness. Their treatment is all make-believe. They know no more about it than any one else. I do not propose to be the subject of experiments. Good-evening."
She was again leaning on the rail, in an attitude which belied her defiant words.
"Good-evening," replied the young doctor, as he turned away with a scarcely perceptible shrug of his shoulders, and with an expression of mingled amusement and annoyance on his face. A low chuckle of laughter caught his ear. He was passing the cabin of the chief officer, and the door stood open.
"What is the matter with you, Mr. McLeod?" he asked, the shade of annoyance passing from his face, and a good-humoured laugh taking its place.
"Yes. How do you feel after that, doctor?"
"Withered; ready to blow away like a dry leaf in autumn!"