MR. RIDGEWAY'S AMAZEMENT
At dinner Hugh was strangely exuberant, jesting gaily and exchanging
rare witticisms with Veath, who also appeared immensely satisfied. As
they left the saloon he said:
"Let's take a turn on deck, Grace."
"Won't you include me?" asked Veath.
"Certainly," answered Grace promptly.
"Be delighted," echoed Hugh, swallowing as if it were an effort.
"I must get a wrap," said Grace. "I won't delay you more than five
minutes."
"I'll get my overcoat and some cigars," added Hugh.
"And I'll write a short letter to post at Malta," said Veath, and they
separated.
A short while later, a steward passed Hugh's stateroom, and he called to
him to step to the next door and tell Miss Ridge that he was ready.
"Miss Ridge just went up with her gentleman--" the man responded; but
Hugh interrupted, slamming the door. For several minutes he stood
glaring at the upper corner of his berth; then he said something strong.
Every vestige of his exuberance disappeared, his brow clouded and his
heart seemed to swell painfully within its narrow confines.
As he was about to ascend the steps of the companionway, he heard the
swish of skirts and then a sharp scream. In an instant he was half way
up, his arms extended. Lord Huntingford's daughter plunged into them,
and he literally carried her to the foot. She was pale and trembling and
he was flushed. He had looked up in time to see her falling forward,
vainly striving to reach the hand rail.
"Are you hurt?" he asked anxiously. The young lady sat down upon the
second step before answering, a delightful pink stealing over her face.
"I--I don't believe I am," she said. "My heel caught on a step and I
fell. It was so clumsy of me. I might have been badly hurt if you had
not caught me as you did."
"These steps are so uncertain," he said, scowling at them. "Somebody'll
get hurt here some day. But, really, are you quite sure you are, not
hurt? Didn't you twist your--your--"
"Ankle? Not in the least. See! I can stand on both of them. I am not
hurt at all. Let me thank you," she said, smiling into his eyes as she
moved away.
"May I assist you?" he asked eagerly.
"Oh, no; I thank you, Mr. Veath. I would not have my preserver perform
the office of a crutch. I am not hurt in the least. Good-afternoon."
Hugh, disconcerted and piqued by her confusion of names, answered her
wondrous smile with one that reflected bewildered admiration, and
finally managed to send after her:
"I wouldn't have lost the opportunity for the world."
That evening he was sitting out on deck in contemplative silence
enjoying his after-dinner smoke. Farther down were Grace and Veath.
Suddenly turning in their direction, Hugh perceived that they were not
there; nor were they anywhere in sight. He was pondering over their
whereabouts, his eyes still on the vacant chairs, when a voice tender
and musical assailed his ears--a voice which he had heard but
once before.
"Good-evening, Mr. Veath."
He wheeled about and found himself staring at the smiling face of the
young lady who had fallen into his arms but a few hours before.
"Good-evening," he stammered, amazed by her unexpected greeting.
"Have--have you fully recovered from your fall?"
"I was quite over it in a moment or two. I wanted to ask you if you were
hurt by the force with which I fell against you." She stood with one
hand upon the rail, quite close to him, the moonlight playing upon her
upturned face. He never had seen a more perfect picture of airy grace
and beauty in his life.
"Why mention an impossibility? You could not have hurt me in a fall ten
times as great."
His tall figure straightened and his eyes gleamed chivalrously. The
young woman's dark, mysterious eyes swept over him for a second,
resting at last upon those which looked admiringly into them from above.
She made a movement as if to pass on, gravely smiling a farewell.
"I beg your pardon," he said hastily. "You called me Mr. Veath a moment
ago. It may be of no consequence to you, yet I should like to tell you
that my name is Ridge--Hugh Ridge."
"It is my place to beg forgiveness. But I understood your name was
Veath, and that you were--were"--here she smiled tantalizingly--"in love
with the beautiful American, Miss Ridge."
"The dev--dick--I mean, the mischief you did! Well, of all the fool
conclusions I've ever heard, that is the worst. In love with my sister!
Ho, ho!" He laughed rather too boisterously.
"But there is a Mr. Veath on board, is there not?--a friend?"
"A Mr. Henry Veath going into the American Revenue Service at Manila."
"How stupid of me! However, I am positive that I was told it was Mr.
Veath who was in love with Miss Ridge."
"But he isn't," hastily cried Hugh, turning hot and cold by turns. "He's
just a friend. She--she is to marry another chap." Here he gulped
painfully. "But please don't breathe it to a soul. She'd hate me
forever. Can I trust you?" To himself, he was saying: "I am making a
devil of a mess of this elopement."
"This is a very large world, Mr. Ridge, and this voyage is a mere
trifle in time. When we leave the ship we may be parting forever, so her
secret would be safe, even though I shrieked it all over the East. You
will return to America before long, I presume?"
"I'm sure I don't know. We may stay a year or no."
"Then the wedding is not a thing of the immediate future?"
"Oh, yes--that is, I mean, certainly not."
"Pardon me for asking so many questions. It is very rude of me." She
said it so penitently that Hugh, unable to find words, could only wave
his hands in deprecation. "Isn't it a perfect evening?" she went on,
turning to the sea. The light breeze blew the straying raven hair away
from her temples, leaving the face clearly chiselled out of the night's
inkiness. Hugh's heart thumped strangely as he noted her evident
intention to remain on deck. She turned to him swiftly and he averted
his eyes, but not quickly enough to prevent her seeing that he had been
scrutinizing her intently. What she may have intended to say was never
uttered. Instead, she observed, a trifle coldly:
"I must bid you good-night, Mr. Ridge."
"Pray, not yet," he cried; "I was just about to ask if we might not sit
in these chairs here for a little while. It is early and it is so
charming to-night." He looked into her eyes again and found that she was
gazing searchingly into his. A light smile broke into life and she
seemed to be satisfied with the momentary analysis of the man
before her.
"It does seem silly to stay below on a night like this. Shall we sit
here?" She indicated two vacant chairs well forward. The young lady
scorned a steamer rug, so he sat beside her, conscious that, despite her
charming presence, he was beginning to feel the air keenly. But he could
not admit it to this slight Englishwoman.
For half an hour or more they sat there, finding conversation easy,
strangely interesting to two persons who had nothing whatsoever in
common. He was charmed, delighted with this vivacious girl. And yet
something mournful seemed to shade the brilliant face now and then. It
did not come and go, moreover, for the frank, open beauty was always the
same; it was revealed to him only at intervals. Perhaps he saw it in her
dark, tender eyes--he could not tell. He saw Henry Veath pacing the
deck, smoking and--alone. Hugh's heart swelled gladly and he spoke quite
cheerily to Veath as that gentleman sauntered past.
"Now, that is Mr. Veath, isn't it?" demanded his fair companion.
"Yes; do you think we should be mistaken for each other?"
"Oh, dear, no, now that I know you apart. You are utterly unlike, except
in height. How broad he is! Hasn't he a wonderful back?" she cried,
admiring the tall, straight figure of the walker.
"He got that on the farm."
"It is worth a farm to have shoulders like his, I should say. You must
introduce Mr. Veath to me."
Hugh looked at the moon very thoughtfully for a few moments and then, as
if remembering, said that he would be happy to do so, and was sure that
Veath would be even happier.
At this moment the tall, lank form of Lord Huntingford approached. He
was peering intently at the people in the chairs as he passed them,
plainly searching for some one.
"There is Lord Huntingford looking for you," said Hugh, rising. He saw a
trace of annoyance in her face as she also arose. "I overheard him
telling the captain that Lady Huntingford--your mother--plays a
miserable game of crib."
She started and turned sharply upon him.
"My mother, Mr. Ridge?" she said slowly.
"Yes; your father was guying Captain Shadburn about his game, you know."
The look of wonder in her eyes increased; she passed her hand across her
brow and then through her hair in evident perplexity, all the while
staring at his face. There was a tinge of suspicion in her voice when
she spoke.
"Mr. Ridge, don't you know?"
"Know what?"
"You surely know that I am not Lord Huntingford's--"
"You don't mean to say that you are not his daughter," gasped Hugh,
dubious as to her meaning.
"I am Lady Huntingford."
"His wife?"
"His wife."
Hugh, too dumbfounded to speak, could do no more than doff his cap as
she took the arm of the gray lord and softly said to him:
"Good-night, Mr. Ridge."