on her door.

"I can't open it--mine opens inwards, you see," she called. "And my
trunk's in the way. What is it?"

"I--I--c-called you an idiot," came his voice, rather low and
hesitating.

"So I was," she said bluntly, and heard him laugh.

"St-still--I needn't have mentioned it."

Then his steps grew faint along the alley-way. She sat back on her
heels, frowning. She was wondering why he would not look at her, why he
flushed and stammered when he spoke to her.

He was back in a few minutes, explaining that he had been to the cook's
galley for boiling water to make tea. She had dragged her cabin trunk
into the doorway, and laid upon it the tin in which her cake was packed,
the two cups he brought with him and the teapot.

"A beneficent shipping company provides one camp stool to each cabin,
you'll find--if you're lucky," he said; but there was not one in
Marcella's cabin. He sat down on his own, and then, standing up
awkwardly as she sat quite casually and comfortably on the floor,
offered it to her.

"Oh no--keep it. I always sit on the floor," she explained, and this
time he stared at the end of her nose.