not appear that he saw anything outrageous in the proposition, and in
his sceptical immobility he seemed to nurse the argument that at all
events the cook was very, very far away. It must be said that, just
before, I had gone wrong by appealing to the evidence of my manner
whenever I called on board the Diana. I had never attempted to approach
the girl, or to speak to her, or even to look at her in any marked way.
Nothing could be clearer. But, as his own idea of--let us say--courting,
seemed to consist precisely in sitting silently for hours in the
vicinity of the beloved object, that line of argument inspired him with
distrust. Staring down his extended legs he let out a grunt--as much as
to say, "That's all very fine, but you can't throw dust in _my_ eyes."

At last I was exasperated into saying, "Why don't you put the matter at
rest by talking to Hermann?" and I added sneeringly: "You don't expect
me perhaps to speak for you?"

To this he said, very loud for him, "Would you?"

And for the first time he lifted his head to look at me with wonder
and incredulity. He lifted his head so sharply that there could be
no mistake. I had touched a spring. I saw the whole extent of my
opportunity, and could hardly believe in it.

"Why. Speak to . . . Well, of course," I proceeded very slowly, watching
him with great attention, for, on my word, I feared a joke. "Not,
perhaps, to the young lady herself. I can't speak German, you know. But
. . ."

He interrupted me with the earnest assurance that Hermann had the
highest opinion of me; and at once I felt the need for the greatest