On the day we landed, however, they were seen again. We were
nosing northward through a dimpled duckpond of a sea, with the
Welsh coast on one side and Ireland just over the way. People who
had not been seen during the voyage came up to breathe, wearing
the air of persons who had just returned from the valley of the
shadow and were mighty glad to be back; and with those others came
our bridal couple.

I inadvertently stumbled on them in an obscure companionway. Their
cheeks again wore the bloom of youth and health, and they were in
a tight clinch; it was indeed a pretty sight. Love had returned
on roseate pinions and the honeymoon had been resumed at the point
where postponed on account of bad weather.

They had not been seasick, though. I heard them say so. They had
been indisposed, possibly from something they had eaten; but they
had not been seasick. Well, I had my own periods of indisposition
going over; and if it had been seasickness I should not hesitate
a moment about coming right out and saying so. In these matters
I believe in being absolutely frank and aboveboard. For the life
of me I cannot understand why people will dissemble and lie about
this thing of being seasick. To me their attitude is a source of
constant wonderment.

On land the average person is reasonably proud of having been
sick--after he begins to get better. It gives him something to
talk about. The pale and interesting invalid invariably commands
respect ashore. In my own list of acquaintances I number several
persons--mainly widowed ladies with satisfactory incomes--who
never feel well unless they are ill. In the old days they would