“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
“Why, Mrs. Trevelyan!” he stammered. “You here—in the dark?”
“Oh, I don’t mind—if you don’t,” she answered in honied tones. “I love seeing the lights and things—and not being seen. It ’s like having on an invisible mask. You can’t imagine the relief it is to one who is regarded as a sort of natural curiosity. People are always elongating their necks and nudging one another when I go by.”
“Rubber necks,” annotated Micky.
“Yes,” she answered. “But between you and me the only men who are n’t are the ones who are atrophied.” She dropped her voice.
“Micky,” she added, “I ’ve come to say good-by to you. You ’ve made the voyage so much pleasanter than it otherwise would have been!”
“It ’s been awfully jolly to have you onboard,” he answered gallantly, a vague uneasiness such as he had felt earlier in their acquaintance again coming over him. “Don’t you want me to turn on the lights? ”
“Oh, no!” she replied. “Unless it ’s against the rules to sit in the dark. Oh, Micky! Won’t you be sorry to lose me?”
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