The weather was rough, and many people who had appeared for lunch were
not to be seen at dinner; but Miss Smith came down, quite fresh and
rosy. Her suit case could provide nothing better than a blue linen
blouse, which she had intended for breakfasts, not dinners. As she
dressed, she thought, with a sigh, that she looked very sedate and
unattractive; but Mr. Powers did not seem to think so. At least, he
looked pleased to see her.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, “but I’ve taken a place for you at
Herbert’s table. I’ve had Herbert for table steward before, and he’s
good.”
Miss Smith did not mind, and she, too, found Herbert a good table
steward.
“But I shan’t be able to give him any tip,” she thought. “And when I
come back, all alone--”
Resolutely she banished that thought. She remembered how her father and
mother used to talk about the folly of “borrowing trouble.” She had
often thought that a shiftless sort of maxim, but now she found it wise.
Perhaps they themselves had been wiser than she realized, for they had
lived joyously in the day that was actually present, not troubling about
days that had gone, or about future days which no one can really
foresee.
Perhaps, she thought, the people who so anxiously provide for the future
are the true romantics; for don’t they invent a future all full of
troubles, and then believe firmly in what they have invented? Perhaps
the so-called romantic people are the most practical, after all.
It was a good thing that notions like this came into her head, for they
helped her to endure the disturbing events of that evening with more
calmness than she could have felt if she had been entirely the old Miss
Smith. Even as it was, she was not a little upset. She sat in the wicker
armchair in her brightly lighted little stateroom. The ship pitched up
and down. Her coat, hanging on a hook, flapped like a great bird, and
her patent leather suit case slid over to the wall and out again. The
thoughts in her mind were quite as uneasy.
“Darcy!” she said to herself. “Darcy! Heavens!”
For Mr. Powers had casually mentioned that his first name was Darcy. He
was an Irishman--a mining engineer--and he had lived in South America
for several years.
“Oh, Heavens!” said poor Miss Smith again.
For here were all the qualifications for a true hero of romance. And the
way he had told her all this! It was on the almost deserted promenade
deck, where the storm curtains filled and flapped in the wind, and the
rain beat against them, and the scuppers rippled and gurgled like little
brooks. Sensible people stayed within, but there these two had sat, side
by side. The electric lights overhead had shone fiercely upon Mr.
Powers’s dark, eager face, and upon his hair, black as a raven’s wing.
He had told her all these things because he wanted her to know about
him, because he hoped she would understand and like him. He had almost
said so in words, and he had certainly said so with that half smiling,
half anxious glance of his.
“I don’t care!” said Miss Smith to herself, with a sob.
She might be silly, but she wasn’t so silly as that. This thing might be
an adventure. Indeed, she was willing to admit that it was one, and to
see it through gallantly; but an adventure with a “heart interest” in it
she would _not_ have!
In desperation she looked about for something to distract her mind.
There was nothing to read except the little booklet hanging on the wall
and an old copy of Lamb’s “Essays,” which she had brought along partly
because she loved it, and partly because it seemed a fitting book for a
governess. She took the booklet down. Once more she read the hours for
meals, and then:
DECK CHAIRS AND RUGS--Deck chairs and rugs can be hired for the
voyage at fixed charges. Payment should be made to the deck
steward, who will issue a ticket.
Then payment _had_ been made to the deck steward for her chair and rug,
and by Mr. Darcy Powers, and she could not reimburse him!
“I’ll have to be civil to him, at least, after that!” thought Miss
Smith.
V
Sunday was the fairest day that ever dawned. Mr. Powers was on deck
early. He saw the sun come up, and he was sorry Miss Smith was not there
to see it, too. He thought she would have enjoyed the spectacle, and he
himself would have enjoyed it more if she had been there.
At half past eight he went down into the dining saloon and looked about.
Ten minutes later he descended again. Three times during the half hour
he went into the dining saloon and looked about; and at last, at nine
o’clock, he sat down and ordered his breakfast.
“Perhaps she’s seasick,” he thought.
Powers, as a rule, like all those who are never seasick, was
unsympathetic toward those who were. He was inclined to consider
seasickness a rather humorous thing; but in this case he did not think
so. He thought of Miss Smith with unreasonable compassion. Sitting there
over his very hearty breakfast, he began to worry about her. He thought
it was a monstrous thing, an outrage, that she should be seasick. He
began to grow angry with the Pattersons for getting themselves lost.
They had no right to be so careless about themselves, and to leave Miss
Smith all alone.
“She shouldn’t have to be a governess, anyhow--a pretty little thing
like that,” he reflected.
Why Miss Smith’s small size or personal appearance should have debarred
her from that useful employment he could not have explained, or why he
found her so very touching. He had no idea how truly terrible her
situation was. He had fancied, indeed, that it might be a good thing for
her to have a little holiday from her Pattersons; but he was sorry for
her, just the same. He remembered how her curly dark hair blew about her
face in the wind, how the ruffled collar of her blouse stood up, how
busy her small hands had been in quelling this enchanting disorder.
Mr. Powers sent a steward to inquire after her, and ten minutes later
she appeared in person.
“I overslept myself!” she explained cheerfully.
He did not realize what that meant. For years and years Miss Smith had
got up at seven o’clock. She had needed no alarm clock, for her sense of
duty had never failed to arouse her; and now the sense of duty had
slumbered. She was a little shocked at herself, and just a little proud.
Coming down to breakfast at half past nine!
“You’ve finished, haven’t you?” she said.
But she knew very well that he would wait with her, and so he did.
“I think you’ll like Bermuda,” he said. “It’s a pretty place. I have an
aunt living there, you know. I hope you’ll let me bring her to call on
you.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, but, you see, I shan’t be there,” said Miss Smith. “I’m
going right back on this ship.”
“But the ship doesn’t sail again till Saturday, you know.”
“Saturday!” cried Miss Smith. “Doesn’t sail till Saturday!”
“No. At this time of the year there’s only one sailing a week.”
The breakfast had come. Herbert stood by, benevolently watching, but
Miss Smith could not eat. She swallowed a cup of coffee and rose.
“I--I think I’ll go up on deck now,” she faltered.
Mr. Powers naturally went with her. He settled her in her deck chair and
sat down beside her, and for a long time there was silence.
“Look here!” he said at last. “I’m sorry to see you so upset, Miss
Smith; but these people--these Pattersons--_can’t_ be so unreasonable
as--”
“Oh, it’s not that!” said she, in a sort of despair. “Only--”
He waited, looking at her face, which had suddenly grown so pale.
“I wish you’d tell me,” he said at length. “I know I’m a stranger to
you, but--” He paused. “My aunt’s down there, you know,” he went on.
“She might be able to--to advise you.”
Advice! What good would that do? Miss Smith was obliged to live on a
strange island from Monday until Saturday on two quarters. She shook her
head mutely. She couldn’t talk. She wished Mr. Powers would go away and
leave her alone, to think.
After a while, he did. He saw he wasn’t wanted, and he went; but then it
was worse than ever.
At half past twelve he came back.
“Won’t you come down to lunch?” he asked.
“I--I don’t feel like eating,” said Miss Smith.
Now, however, she was not so anxious for Mr. Powers to go away and let
her think, and he did not go.
“Look here!” he said firmly. “Miss Smith, are you a good judge of
character?”
“We-ell, yes,” replied Miss Smith. “Yes, I _think_ so.”
There is no one in the world who does not think the same thing. Just ask
anybody!
“Then please look at me,” said Mr. Powers.
She raised her eyes to his face, only for an instant, and then glanced
away.
“Do you think I have an honest face?” he asked. “Trustworthy?”
“Ye-es,” said Miss Smith.
“Then won’t you trust me? Tell me what’s wrong. I’m older than you, and
I’ve knocked about a lot. I’ve been up against all sorts of
difficulties, and I know pretty well how to get out of them. You’re
here, all alone. You’re very young and very--” Again he paused. “Very
much worried,” he continued; “and if you would tell me--”
Miss Smith stole another glance at his face, and it seemed to her not
only trustworthy but intelligent and friendly; so she told him. The
sedate and sensible Miss Smith confessed to a strange man that she only
had two quarters.
He was silent for a moment, staring before him.
“If I’m any good at all,” he thought, “I’ll handle this thing properly,
so that she won’t be hurt or offended or troubled in any way.”
So he said aloud, in just the right tone, calm and good humored:
“I see! Of course you were worried; but it’s all right now. I’ll take
you to my aunt, Mrs. Mount. She’ll understand.”
Fortunately Miss Smith was not a sufficiently good judge of character to
read Mr. Powers’s mind just then; for he was thinking:
“You poor, sweet little thing! You poor little darling! I’d like to buy
the whole island and give it to you! You ought to have everything. You
deserve everything, you dear little thing!”
Miss Smith didn’t believe that people ever really thought things like
that.