I ordered tea at once in the hope of hastening his departure. He had been
curiously silent since she had come in.

But he didn't go. He just sat there, saying nothing, but looking at her
furtively now and again, and blinking, as if looking at her hurt him.
Whenever she said anything he stared, with his mouth a little open,
breathing heavily.

She hadn't paid very much attention to him. Then, suddenly, as if
intrigued by his silence, she said:

"Who is the Heaven-afflicted idiot?"

I said, "Ask Mr. Jevons."

She did.

Jevons didn't answer her. He simply looked at her and blinked. Then he
looked away again.

"Come," I said, "you might finish what you were going to say."

"I don't know," he muttered, "that I was going to say anything--Oh
yes--that thing you sent me. Why the silly blighter should suppose it's
necessary to stick in a storm at sea when it's quite obvious he hasn't
seen one--he talks about a brig when he means a bark, and from the way he
navigates her you'd say the wind blew all ways at once in the Atlantic."

I said it might for all I knew; and I asked him if he'd ever seen a storm
at sea himself.