THE BEAUTIFUL STRANGER
They were now well along in the Mediterranean. The air was cool and
crisp, yet there were dozens of people on deck watching the sunset and
the sailors who were trimming the ship. There were passengers on board
for China, Japan, India and Australia. A half hundred soldiers,
returning to the East, after a long furlough at home, made the ship
lively. They were under loose discipline and were inclined to be
hilarious. A number were forward now, singing the battle songs of the
British and the weird ones of the natives. Quite a crowd had collected
to listen, including Ridgeway and Veath, who were strolling along the
deck, arm in arm, enjoying an after-dinner smoke, and had paused in
their walk near the group, enjoying the robust, devil-may-care tones of
the gallant subalterns.
Miss Vernon was in her stateroom trying to jot down in a newly opened
diary the events of the past ten days. She was up to ears in the work,
and was almost overcome by its enthusiasm. It was to be a surprise for
Hugh at some distant day, when she could have it printed and bound for
him alone. There was to be but one copy printed, positively, and it was
to belong to Hugh. Her lover as he strode the deck was unconscious of
the task unto which she had bent her energy. He knew nothing of the
unheard-of intricacies in punctuation, spelling and phraseology. She was
forced at one time to write Med and a dash, declaring, in chagrin, that
she would add the remainder of the word when she could get to a place
where a dictionary might tell her whether it was spelled Mediterranean
or Mediteranian.
Suddenly, Hugh pressed Veath's arm a little closer.
"Look over there near the rail. There's the prettiest girl I've ever
seen!"
"Where?"
"Can't point, because she's looking this way. Girl with a dark green
coat, leaning on an old gentleman's arm--"
"I see," interrupted Veath. "By George! she's pretty!"
"No name for it! Have you in your life ever seen anything so beautiful?"
cried Ridgeway. He stared at her so intently that she averted her face.
"Wonder who she can be? The old man must be her father. Strange we
haven't seen them before. I'm sure that she hasn't been on deck."
"You seem interested--do you want a flirtation?"
"Oh, Grace wouldn't stand for that--not for a minute."
"I don't believe she would object if you carried it on skilfully,"
smiled the other.
"It wouldn't be right, no matter how harmless. I couldn't think of
being so confoundedly brutal."
"Sisters don't usually take such things to heart."
Hugh came to himself with a start and for a moment or two could find no
word of response, so deeply engrossed was he in the effort to remember
whether he had said anything that might have betrayed his secret.
"Oh," he laughed awkwardly, "you don't understand me. Grace is so--well,
so--conscientious, that if she thought I was--er--trifling, you know,
with a girl, she'd--she'd have a fit. Funniest girl you ever saw about
those things--perfect paragon."
"Is it possible? Are you not a little strong on that point, old man? I'm
afraid you don't know your sister any better than other men
know theirs."
"What's that?" demanded Hugh, suddenly alert and forgetful of the
stranger.
"The last person on earth that a man gets acquainted with, I've heard,
is his sister," said Veath calmly. "Go ahead and have a good time, old
fellow; your sister isn't so exacting as you think--take my word
for it."
It was fully five minutes before Hugh could extract himself from the
slough of speculation into which those thoughtless words had driven him.
What did Veath know about her ideas on such matters? Where did he learn
so much? The other spoke to him twice and received no answer. Finally he
shook his arm and said:
"Must be love at first sight, Ridge. Are you spellbound?" Hugh merely
glared at him and he continued imperturbably: "She's pretty beyond a
doubt. I'll have to find out who she is."
"That's right, Veath; find out," cried Hugh, bright in an instant. "Make
her have a good time. Poor thing, she'll find it pretty dull if she
hangs to her father all the time."
"He isn't a very amusing-looking old chap, is he? If that man hasn't the
gout and half a dozen other troubles I'll jump overboard."
The couple arousing the interest of the young men stood near the forward
end of the deck-house. The young woman's face was beaming with an
inspiration awakened by the singers. Her companion, tall, gray and
unimpressionable, listened as if through coercion and not for pleasure.
His lean face, red with apoplectic hues, grim with the wrinkles of three
score years or more, showed clear signs of annoyance. The thin gray
moustache was impatiently gnawed, first on one side and then on the
other. Then the military streak of gray that bristled forth as an
imperial was pushed upward and between the lips by bony fingers. He was
a picture of dutiful rebellion, Immaculately dressed was he, and
distinguished from the soles of his pointed shoes to the beak of his
natty cap. A light colored newmarket of the most fashionable cut was
buttoned closely about his thin figure.
The young woman was not tall, nor was she short; she was of that
indefinite height known as medium. Her long green coat fitted her
snugly and perfectly; a cap of the same material was perched jauntily
upon her dark hair. The frolicking wind had torn several strands from
beneath the cap, and despite the efforts of her gloved fingers, they
whipped and fluttered in tantalizing confusion. In the dimming afternoon
the Americans could see that she was exquisitely beautiful. They could
see the big dark eyes, almost timid in the hiding places beyond the
heavy fringing lashes. Her dark hair threw the rich face into clear
relief,--fresh, bright, eager. The men were not close enough to observe
with minuteness its features, but its brilliancy was sufficient to
excite even marvelling admiration. It was one of those faces at which
one could look for ever and still feel there was a charm about it he had
not caught.
"I've never seen such a face before," again murmured Ridgeway.
"Tastes differ," said Veath. "Now, if you'll pardon me, I think Miss
Ridge is the more beautiful. She is taller and has better style.
Besides, I like fair women. What say?" The question was prompted by the
muttered oath that came from Hugh.
"Nothing at all," he almost snarled. "Say, Veath, don't always be
talking to me about my sister," he finally jerked out, barely able to
confine himself to this moderately sensible abjuration while his brain
was seething with other and stronger expressions.
"I beg your pardon, Ridge; I did not know that I talked very much about
her." There was a brief silence and then he continued: "Have a fresh
cigar, old man." Hugh took the cigar ungraciously, ashamed of his
petulance.
By this time the early shades of night had begun to settle and the
figures along the deck were growing faint in the shadows. Here and there
sailors began to light the deck lamps; many of the passengers went below
to avoid the coming chill. In her stateroom Grace was just writing: "For
over a week we have been sailing under British colors, we good
Americans, Hugh and I,--and I may add, Mr. Veath."
Another turn down the promenade and back brought Ridgeway and Veath face
to face with the old gentleman and the young lady, who were on the point
of starting below. The Americans paused to let them pass, lifting their
caps. The old gentleman, now eager and apparently more interested in
life and its accompaniments, touched the vizor of his cap in response,
and the young lady smiled faintly as she drew her skirts aside and
passed before him.
"Did you ever see a smile like that?" cried Hugh, as the couple
disappeared from view.
"Thousands," answered his companion. "They're common as women
themselves. Any woman has a pretty smile when she wants it."
"You haven't a grain of sentiment, confound you."
"They don't teach sentiment on the farm, and there's where I began this
unappreciative existence of mine. But I am able to think a lot
sometimes."
"That's about all a fellow has to do on a farm, isn't it?"
"That and die, I believe."
"And get married?"
"Naturally, in order to think more. A man has to think for two after
he's married, you see."
"Quite sarcastic that. You don't think much of women, I fancy."
"Not in the plural."
Captain Shadburn was nearing them on the way from the chart-house, and
the young men accosted him, Veath inquiring:
"Captain, who is the tall old gentleman you were talking to forward
awhile ago?"
"That is Lord Huntingford, going over to straighten out some
complications for the Crown. He is a diplomat of the first water."
"Where are these complications, may I ask?"
"Oh, in China, I think. He is hurrying across as fast as possible. He
leaves the ship at Hong Kong, and nobody knows just what his mission is;
that's between him and the prime minister, of course. But, good-evening,
gentlemen. I have a game of cribbage after dinner with his Lordship."
The captain hurried below.
"A real live lord," said Veath. "The first I've seen."
"China," Hugh repeated. "I hope we may get to know them."