The three descended to Fanny's cabin. Ella had sent
champagne--six cosy pints in a wicker basket.
"They say it's good for seasickness," she announced,
cheerfully, "but it's a lie. Nothing's good for
seasickness, except death, or dry land. But even if you do
feel miserable--and you probably will--there's something
about being able to lie in your berth and drink champagne
alone, by the spoonful, that's sort of soothing."
Heyl had fallen silent. Fanny was radiant again, and
exclamatory over her books and flowers.
"Of course it's my first trip," she explained, "and an event
in my life, but I didn't suppose that anybody else would
care. What's this? Candy? Glace fruit." She glanced
around the luxurious little cabin, then up at Heyl,
impudently. "I may be a coarse commercial person, Clancy,
but I must say I like this very, very much. Sorry."
They went up on deck. Ella, a seasoned traveler, was full
of parting instructions. "And be sure to eat at
Kempinski's, in Berlin. Twenty cents for lobster. And
caviar! Big as hen's eggs, and as cheap as codfish.
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