"Landed in New York yesterday; got here this morning at half-past seven, found my family were up on the St. Lawrence, and here I am. But what are you doing on this boat?"
"Oh, I just came down to see somebody off."
An excess of indifference in the manner of this reply did not escape the friend from Africa. With a sidelong glance at his companion, he said, "A man, of course."
"No need of being clever, Billy, when you advertise your secret by blushing like a girl of fifteen."
"Blush! I, blush! How old do you think I am? Ten?"
"Yes all of that. But if you didn't actually blush, old man, you did look foolish. And this explains a state-room full of flowers that I noticed. Is that _her_ bower?"
"Well, who is she, Billy? You might as well tell me, for I shall be sure to discover if she goes on this boat."
"Elinor Marshall? Why, that name is familiar. Where have I heard it?"
"And she is going to your place now, on a visit."
"Good! I'll cut you out. Is she fond of bones?"
Mr. William Townsend did not answer, but he looked at his watch. "She ought to be here now. The boat sails at ten-thirty, doesn't it?"
"It's ten, now. I shall trot you up as soon as she arrives."
"Thanks. You will excuse my asking a cruel question, old man, but you certainly did not send _all_ the flowers in that cabin?"
Mr. Patrick Boyd, with a slight gesture toward two carefully attired gentlemen who were pacing the wharf, raised his eyebrows interrogatively.
His companion smiled. "Yes. She can also have either of them, and without the asking."
The attenuated man regarded the two gentlemen with interest. "That chap has a familiar face."
"To be sure! And I should know his friend was a lover. His anxious glances up the wharf, and those flowers give him away. Such roses are for no aunt or sister."
"Well, that is not for me to say. But he is one of those fearfully earnest chaps, with a tragic soul, and a rebuff would be a dangerous thing for him."
And the man of cheerful countenance slowly wagged his head, as he added, in a sympathetic voice, "This being in love seems a painful pleasure."
Mr. William Townsend regarded his friend with half-shut eyes, and asked, "Are you still the superior person who defies the--the malady?"
"It's the truth. Of course I have known very fine girls who caused the usual thrills, whose conservatory kisses I should never undervalue. But when it comes to the fatuous delirium--the celestial idiocy that queers the brain and impairs the vision--why, I have been unlucky, that's all."