"Oh, Miss Harland!" I exclaimed--"Surely you could not have thought it
a gramophone! Such music! It was perfectly exquisite!"
"Was it?" And she drew the ugly grey woollen shawl in which she was
wrapped closer about her sallow throat as she sat up in her bed and
looked at me--"Well, it may have been, to you,--you seem to find
delight in everything,--I'm sure I don't know why! Of course it's very
nice to have such a happy disposition--but really that music teased me
dreadfully. Such a bore having music when you want to go to sleep."
I was silent, and having a piece of embroidery to occupy my hands I
began to work at it.
"I hope you're quite comfortable on board,"--she resumed,
presently--"Have you all you want in your rooms?"