my face. I did not speak. My policy was not to attempt to force results in any way.
"Elsie," he said, presently, "some time ago I remember saying to you that perhaps our marriage was a mistake." I started. He went on: "I now believe that it was not. Elsie, no other woman would have been as patient as you have been, or made the sacrifice you have made in—in—really expatriating yourself for my sake. I—I—am very grateful, dear."
"You have nothing to be grateful for," I said, gravely. Then lightly throwing off the sentimental mood to which I would have loved to give sway, "I don't consider this expatriation, this is merely a pleasant voyage, and it is even more delightful than I anticipated."
"It is delightful," he said, seriously.
I imagine our fellow-passengers considered that we were rather eccentric. The men seemed to look down upon Arthur—or at least I thought so. What looked to me like contemptuous glances were cast by them at my husband when he was sitting in the midst of the medley of feminine passengers, who had evidently "taken a
