"See," went on the girl, leaning forward, and displaying the label in the deck-steward's handwriting.
"I do see," said Val. "But that happens to be my name."
The girl blushed brightly. And she was more attractive than ever when she blushed. "Oh, how very odd! Then perhaps this _is_ your chair! How perfectly horrid." She began to unwind herself from the rug which was wrapped round her as a chrysalis round an incipient butterfly.
"Please don't get up." Loveland's tone was almost imploring. "Do keep the chair. I want you to keep it."
"Thank you very much. But I don't want to keep it, if it's yours, and I think now it probably is. If it weren't, you wouldn't have expected to find it waiting for you in this particular place?"
"No, it wasn't that. But as I was passing, I saw my aunt's name on the back of a chair, and because the deck-steward had been told to put one in a nice sheltered place, I took it for granted that this was hers. I didn't know there was another Loveland on the passenger list."
"I noticed there was a Mrs. Loveland," said Val, "but didn't think much about it, as she wasn't likely to turn out a relation of mine. And my name isn't on the list, I came in the place of--another man."
As he made this explanation, with a slight pause which meant the recollection of his promise to Jim Harborough, Major Cadwallader Hunter went by, walking slowly; and, having long-distance ears, heard as he passed. He was waiting for his chance to "nobble" Lord Loveland; and afterwards he remembered those few last words which he had caught. He seldom forgot anything which could possibly matter, even though it might be of seeming insignificance at the time.
"I'll go and look for the _other_ Loveland chair," said the girl.
"You must do nothing of the sort," exclaimed Val.
"Oh, it's easy to see you're an Englishman. American men don't order us about like that."
Loveland laughed. "I didn't order you about. I ordered you to sit still."
"That's just as bad. You have the air of being used to give orders."
"Oh, what a relief. I began to be afraid you were a duke."
Loveland had the unusual sensation of feeling comparatively unimportant. When the girl came to find out who he was, she would know that he was less than a duke. And if he had the air of being a duke, she had the air of thinking no duke could possibly be superior to any self-respecting American.