DISCOVERED
Lord Huntingford could not forgive the man who had put his aristocratic
nose out of joint in such an effective manner. He was, however, as
polite as nature would permit him to be to Miss Ridge and Mr. Veath. As
for Hugh, that young gentleman thought it the wiser plan, when
unavoidably relating a mild description of last night's encounter, to
abstain from acquainting Grace with Lord Huntingford's discovery of his
name--whether accidental or otherwise. Quite rightly he surmised that it
would unnecessarily distress her, and he preferred not to cross the
bridge until he came to it.
It was the evening following the conflict. As night approached, the sun
fell behind the shores of the Red Sea, the stars twinkled out through
the blackness above, and yet they had not caught a glimpse of her
Ladyship. At dinner, he and Grace had agreed that she had either
renounced them entirely, or had been compelled to avoid him in
particular. Veath was less concerned. He was thinking of another woman.
Hugh and Grace again stole away for a few moments of seclusion on deck.
They found chairs and sat down, neither very talkative.
"Oh, Hugh, just think where we are," she murmured at last. "Thousands
of miles from home, and no one the wiser save ourselves. Chicago is on
the other side of the world."
"Are you sorry you came, dear?"
"I am glad. But isn't it awful to consider how far we are from everybody
we know? We might just as well be dead, Hugh." She was very solemn and
wide-eyed.
"I am afraid you are losing heart," he said disconsolately.
"Why, Hugh Ridgeway--Ridge, I mean,--how can I afford to lose heart now?
Don't ever say that to me again."
"Yes; we are a long way from home, dear," mused he after a while.
"How far are we from Manila?" she asked suddenly.
"A million miles, judging by the way time goes. We'll be there in twenty
days, the captain says."
"What do you suppose Mr. Veath will say when he hears of our marriage?"
This question was propounded after a longer interval of silence
than usual.
"Why should we care what Mr. Veath says? If he doesn't approve, let him
go to--" but Hugh checked his fiery speech as abruptly as he began it.
"He will be awfully shocked to learn how we have deceived him," she went
on, as if he had not spoken.
"Well, do you care?" demanded Hugh.
"Yes, I care," she cried. "I shall be very sorry if he loses the good
opinion he may have formed. He is the kind of a man who would not
understand such an affair as this."
"But, then, we are not obliged to tell him. We can get married and leave
Manila at once without ever seeing him again. After that we will be Mr.
and Mrs. Ridgeway, and he could never find the people known as Hugh
Ridge and sister."
"That would be a shameless way to treat him. He has been so true, so
good, Hugh," she cried reproachfully. For quite a while their eyes
lingered upon the dark water without seeing it, their thoughts centred
upon the fast approaching end of their relationship with Henry Veath.
"I wish he could be told," murmured she, her voice far away.
"I couldn't do it to save my soul. What would he say?" There was an awed
anxiety in his voice.
"I don't care what other people say, but I do care what he says. He
seems so honest, so far above tricks of this kind."
"What's one man's opinion, anyhow, especially when he's to be buried in
Manila for years?"
"Oh, Hugh! How lonely he will be in that strange place. And how dreadful
it will be in us to sneak away from him like cowards, just as if we
cared nothing for him at all. He doesn't deserve that, does he?"
"No, he doesn't, that's a fact. We can't treat him like a dog."
"I wish he could be told," sighed she pensively.
"When?"
"You might try to tell him at any time," she said, a perceptible strain
in her voice.
"I'll tell you what I'll do," said he, taking her hand in his. "I will
tell him the day before we reach Manila."
"I'm afraid it will be too late," she cried, all a-flutter.
"Too late? Why?"
"I mean," she went on confusedly, "he might think we had waited too
long." She was thinking of Veath's wistful eyes.
"Hello! Here you are," cried a strong voice, and Veath loomed up through
the shadows. Hugh released her hand and dropped back in the chair from
which he had half risen to kiss her. "You hide away like a pair of silly
lovers. There's nothing prosaic about this brother and sister. Do you
know, I have often marvelled over one thing in connection with you. You
don't look any more like brother and sister than the sea looks like
dry land."
The pair caught breath sharply and Hugh almost snorted aloud. Grace
could do nothing but look up to where she saw the red fluctuating glow
of a cigar tip in the darkness. It made her think of a little moon which
could breathe like herself.
"It all goes to show how deceptive appearances can be," went on Veath
easily. "Don't you want to walk, Miss Ridge? I'm sure you need
exercise."
"I promised Hugh I would drive away his blues, Mr. Veath. Thank you,
but I believe I'll sit here for a while and then go below," she said, a
trifle disconnectedly.
"We'll take Hugh along," said Veath obligingly. "Come along, both of
you."
"Excuse me, Henry, but I don't feel like walking," said Hugh, a tinge of
sullenness in his manner.
"Lazy, eh? Well, I'll bring Miss Ridge back in half an hour. You
wouldn't have me wander about this dismal old boat alone, would you?
Smoke a cigar, Hugh, and I'll take care of your sister while you count
the stars." He offered Hugh a cigar.
Hugh rose suddenly and started away.
"Hugh!" called she, "come and walk with us." He could distinguish the
loving entreaty, the trouble in her tones, but he was unreasonable.
"Never mind me," he sang out with an assumption of cheerfulness. Grace
flushed hotly, her heart swelling with injured pride. Without another
word she rose and walked away with Veath. Indignation burned within her
soul until she went to sleep, hours afterward.
Ridgeway stamped the full length of the promenade before he came to an
understanding with himself. On reaching that understanding, he whirled
and walked back to where he had left them, expecting to find Veath
occupying the chair he had vacated. Of course they were not to be found,
so he threw himself on one of the chairs, more miserable than he had
been since they started on their voyage. The lady in the chair to his
left stirred nervously and then a soft laugh came from her lips.
"Are you sleepy, Mr. Ridge?" she asked. Hugh turned quickly and looked
into the face of Lady Huntingford.
"Not at all," he replied. "But how strange it seems that you should
always appear like the fairy queen when I am most in need of a bracer.
Oh, I beg your pardon," he went on, rising in some perturbation. "I
forgot that there is a--a barrier between us. War has been declared,
I fear."
"I am ready to make friendly overtures," she said gaily. "Isn't there
some such thing as a treaty which requires a strong power to protect its
weaker ally in time of stress?"
"You mean that we may still be friends in spite of all that happened
last night?" he cried. She nodded her head and smiled, and he shook her
hand as only an impulsive American would.
"But Lord Huntingford? What will he say?" he asked.
"His Lordship's authority can be carried to a certain limit and no
farther," she said, and her eyes flashed. "He knows when to curse and
abuse; but he also knows when that attitude might operate against him.
He is not in a position to push me to the wall."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean he knows enough not to drive me to the point where I would turn
and fight." Hugh never had seen her so entrancing as she was in that dim
light, her face the picture of proud defiance.
"I wonder not a little that you have not asked for a divorce long before
this."
"You are not a woman or you would not ask that."
"Lots of women ask for divorces."
"It should be the last resort with any woman. But let us talk of
something else. Where is your sister? I have not seen her to-day."
This question was particularly ill-timed, for it restored the forgotten
bitterness to the position from which it had been temporarily driven by
the interruption.
"I don't know," he answered.
"I thought I heard her talking to you here a few moments ago--in fact, I
saw you."
"Where were you?"
"I passed within a dozen feet of you. Neither of you saw me, I am sure.
You would not have cut me intentionally, would you?"
"I should say not. You walked past here?"
"Yes, you were tying her shoe-string."
"What!" exclaimed he, starting to his feet, "tying Grace's shoe-string?"
The first thought that rushed to his mind was that Veath had knelt to
plead his love to Grace Vernon.
"Lady Huntingford, let us walk," he exclaimed. It was a fierce,
impatient command instead of a polite invitation. The pretty young
woman calmly lay back in her chair and laughed. "If you won't come, then
please excuse me. I must go."
"Why are you so eager to walk, Mr. Ridgeway?" she asked.
"Because I want--what was that you called me?" he gasped, his heart
almost turning upside down.
"Ridgeway. That's your name, isn't it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, a great many things," she said with a serious face.
Hugh was visibly annoyed. There was to be more trouble from the
nobleman; evidently he did not intend to keep his promise.
"In the first place," she continued, "I must acknowledge that I forced
from my husband an account of last night's affair; he also told me your
name. But, believe me, it will go no further. I cannot thank you enough,
Mr. Ridgeway," the color stealing into her cheeks.
Ridgeway bowed.
"In the next place," she went on playfully, "you are very jealous of Mr.
Veath. Tut, tut, yes you are," with a gesture of protest. "He thinks
Miss Ridge is your sister, and she is not your sister. And lastly,
nobody on board knows these facts but the very bright woman who is
talking to you at this moment."
"But you are mistaken, madam," with a last attempt at assumption of
dignity.
"Would I say this to you if I were not positive? You think you are very
clever; I'll admit that you are. Your secrets came to me through an
accident. Do not think that I have pried into your affairs. They really
forced themselves upon me."
"Tell me what you know, for Heaven's sake," cried the dismayed Ridgeway.
"I was in your sister's room earlier in the day. Her trunk was open and
I saw a portfolio with Vernon in silver lettering; and I was more
mystified than ever when I observed that the initials on her trunk were
'G.V.' All day yesterday I tried to solve the problem, taking into
consideration the utter absence of family resemblance between you, and I
was almost sick with curiosity. To-day I was convinced that her name is
not Ridge. She inadvertently signed her name to the purser's slip in my
presence, and she did not sign the--yours. She scratched it out quickly
and asked him to make out another one. Now, what is this mystery?" She
bent her gaze upon his face and he could not meet it.
"Do you want to know the reason why I did not see you yesterday?" she
continued.
"Yes," he murmured, mopping his brow.
"Because I was so distressed that I feared I could not face either of
you, knowing what I do."
"What do you mean?"
"I know you are running away." Not a word was spoken for a full minute.
He could scarcely breathe. "You do not deny it?" she questioned gently.
"Please do not fear me."
"I do not fear you," he half whispered, sinking his chin in his hands.
Another long silence.
"There are some circumstances and conditions under which a woman should
not be condemned for running away," she said in a strained, faraway
voice. "Has--has she children?"
"Good Heaven!" cried Hugh, leaping to his feet, horror-struck.