In Which I Have Polite Conversation, But Little Else

And then, I slowly turned my head, and saw her standing on the after
deck. Her footfall was not audible on the rubber deck-mats, and she
had not spoken. I resolved, as soon as I had leisure, to ask some
scientific friends to explain how it was possible that with no sound
or other appeal to any of the sensorial nerves, I could, at a distance
of seventy-five feet, become conscious of the presence of a person no
more than five feet five, who had not spoken a word, and was standing
idly looking out over the ship's rail, in quite the opposite direction
from that in which I sat. And then the ship's clock struck six bells,
and recalled the appointment at eleven. Hastily I dropped Epictetus
and my cigar, and hurried aft.

"Good morning again, Helena," said I.

She stood looking on out over the water for a time, but, at length,
turned toward me, just a finger up as to stifle a yawn. "Really," said
she, "while I am hardly so situated that I can well escape it or
resent it, it does seem to me that you might well be just a trifle
less familiar. Why not 'Miss Emory'?"

"Because, Helena, I like 'Helena' better."

A slow anger came into her eyes. She beat a swift foot on the deck.

"Don't," I said. "Don't stamp with your feet. It reminds me of a
Belgian hare, and I do not like them, potted or caged."

"I might as well be one," she broke out, "as well be one, caged here
as we are, and insulted by a--a----"