In his soul of souls Thomas hoped so. "Yes, miss--indeed, yes, if you
occupy this cabin."

"Here are the tickets"; and the young lady signed the slip of paper he
gave her: Mr. and Mrs. Daniel Killigrew, Miss Killigrew and maid. "I
shall probably keep you very busy." There was a twinkle in her eyes,
but he was English and did not see it.

"That is what I am here for, miss." He smiled reassuringly.

"Never ask my father if he wishes tea and toast"--gravely.

"Yes, miss"--with honest gravity. Thomas knew nothing of women, young
or old. With the habits and tastes of the male biped he was tolerably
familiar. He was to learn.

"Hot water-bottles for my mother every night, and a pot of chocolate
for myself. I shall always have my breakfast early in the saloon. I'm
a first-rate sailor."

A rush, a whir.

"Kitty, you darling! They have put us on the other side of the ship."

Thomas was genuinely glad of it. With a goddess and a nymph to wait
upon, heaven knew how many broken dishes he'd have to account for.
Never in the park, never after the matinees, never in all wide London,
had he seen two such lovely types: Titian and Greuse.