was on fire because of it Luke was on the bridge. I felt that in spite of the darkness, and it was pretty dark—as well I remember!—his eye was on us as much as on the ship’s course. We had been walking up and down for exercise. She was leaning over the taffrail apparently preparing to enter on a kind of philosophical discussion about what love was.
“Is it good to love?”
“That depends.”
My tone was grim.
“Do I love you?”
“I should like to hear you say so.”
“I love you.”
I thought that was what she said. But she was leaning so far over, seeming to be watching the smudge of soapsuds we were leaving behind us, that I couldn’t quite catch her words. Though I was all of a quiver to.
“What do you say?”
“I say I love you.”
“Susie! Do you mean it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what love is. How should I? I’m only a savage. You said so the other day. I want telling things.”
“You don’t want telling what love is.”
“Do you mean that you don’t want to tell me? You never will tell me what I really want to know. I’ll ask one of the men. I’ll ask Luke. He tells me things.”
“Susie! Luke’s too fond of interfering in matters which are no business of his. He’ll get himself into trouble before he’s done”
“Why?”
“Don’t you dare to ask Luke what love is!”
“Dare! I dare do anything. I’ll go and ask him now.”
She’d have been off if I hadn’t caught her arm.
“Susie! Don’t! For my sake!”
