She lifted her eyebrows at me.

"As Portia?"

"As Portia, the wife of Brutus," I blundered on, at the same time
receiving her permission, by a nod, to light my cigar.

"The pious, love-sick wife of Brutus!" This in a disdainful tone, and
the white teeth clicked softly together.

"Yes, a good disguise," I said banteringly, though I fancy somewhat
tentatively also, and certainly with a touch of rudeness. I was thinking
at that moment of the Intermediate Passenger, and I was curious.

"And you think of going in the disguise of a gentleman? Caius Cassius
was that, wasn't he?" she retorted in an ironical tone.

"I suppose he was, though he was punished once for rudeness," I replied
apologetically.

"Quite so," was the decisive reply.

I felt that she was perfectly cool, while I was a little confused, and
ashamed too, that I had attempted to be playfully satirical. And so,
wondering what I should say next, I remarked in desperation: "Do you like
the sea?"

"I am never ill at sea," was her reply. "But I do not really like it;
it is treacherous. The land would satisfy me if--" She paused.