Now it is dark; the lights are lit all over the
ship; the floor of heaven is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold...
"In such a night did young Lorenzo ..."
_Nov. 2, 11.30 a.m_.
Our fellow-passengers derive much amusement from the way we sit and
scribble, and one man asked me if I were writing a book! All this time
I haven't mentioned the Port Said letters. We got them before we left
the ship, and, determined for once to show myself a well-balanced,
sensible young person, I took mine to the cabin and locked them firmly
in a trunk, telling myself how nice it would be to read them in peace
on my return. The spirit was willing, but--I found I must rush down to
take just a peep to see if everyone was well, and the game ended with
me sitting uncomfortably on the knobby edge of Mrs. Albert Murray's
bunk, breathlessly tearing open envelopes.
They were all delightful, and I have read them many times. I have
yours beside me now, and to make it like a real talk I shall answer
each point as it comes.
You say the sun hasn't shone since I left.
Are you by any chance paying me a compliment? Or are you merely
stating a fact? As Pet Marjorie would say, I am primmed up with
majestic pride because of the compliments I receive. One lady, whose
baby I held for a little this morning, told me I had such a sweet,
unspoiled disposition! But what really pleased me and made me feel
inches taller was that Captain Gordon told someone who told me that he
thought I had great stability of character.
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