"Yes, miss"--with honest gravity. Thomas knew nothing of women, young
or old. With the habits and tastes of the male biped he was tolerably
familiar. He was to learn.
"Hot water-bottles for my mother every night, and a pot of chocolate
for myself. I shall always have my breakfast early in the saloon. I'm
a first-rate sailor."
A rush, a whir.
"Kitty, you darling! They have put us on the other side of the ship."
Thomas was genuinely glad of it. With a goddess and a nymph to wait
upon, heaven knew how many broken dishes he'd have to account for.
Never in the park, never after the matinees, never in all wide London,
had he seen two such lovely types: Titian and Greuse.
"No!" said the Greuse.
"Stupid mistake at the booking-office," replied the Titian. "Come up
on deck. They are putting off."
"Just a moment. Put the small luggage, Mr. . . ."
"Webb."
"Mr. Webb. Put the small luggage on the lounge. Never mind the
straps. That is all."
"Yes, miss."
The two young women hurried off. Thomas stared after them, his brows
bent in a mixture of perplexity, dazzlement and diffidence.
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