An hour later, as the _Maid of the North_ was steaming for the
open sea, the man from Africa and his new acquaintance formed a group on
the after deck.
The day was a rare one, even for early June. Across the surface of the
water--now a sparkling, joyful blue--the air came free and full of life.
This air was exhilarating. It inspired Father Burke to tell a funny
anecdote, and he did it well. For not only did Father Burke possess a
sense of humor, but his heavy, benevolent face, white hair, and deep
voice gave unusual impressiveness to whatever he chose to utter. Even
Mr. Appleton Marshall, a victim of acute Bostonia, eluded for a time his
own self-consciousness. He soon went below, however, to revel,
undisturbed, in a conservative local paper. Mr. Patrick Boyd,--or Pats,
as we may as well call him,--being always of a buoyant spirit, added
liberally to the general cheer.
The young lady regarded this addition to her party with a peculiar
interest. She knew that the mention of his name in his own family was
for years a thing forbidden. Just how bad he was, or how innocent, she
had never learned. And now, as she studied, furtively, this exile of
uncertain reputation, and as she recognized the open nature, the
fortitude, the tranquil spirit, all unmistakably written in his
emaciated, sunburnt face, her curiosity was quickened. She knew that
Sally, his elder sister,--her own intimate friend,--had persisted in a
correspondence with her brother against her father's wishes. And that,
perhaps, was in his favor. At least, he had a good mouth and honest
eyes. His neck, his hands, and his legs were preternaturally thin, and
she wondered if the gap between his collar and his throat told a
truthful story of South African fever. If so, the change had been
appalling. However, neither bullets nor fever had reduced his spirits.
The conversation touched on many things. When she happened to say that
this was her first visit to the Boyds' Canadian house, he replied:
"And mine too."
"Have you never seen it?" she asked in surprise.
"Never. My father bought this place about ten years ago, and I have been
away over thirteen years."
"I had forgotten you had been away so long."
With a smile and a slight inclination of his head, he replied:
"That you should know of my existence is a flattering surprise. Any
mention of my name, I understand, was a state's prison offence until my
father died."
"Not quite so bad as that."
"A man's fame is not apt to flourish when corked up in a bottle and laid
away in a closet, with 'Poison' on the label."
Here was a chance to gratify a natural curiosity, and he seemed willing
to throw light on the mystery. She was about to offer the necessary
encouragement, when Father Burke took the conversation into less
personal fields. It may have been the contagion of this young man's
cheerfulness, or the reaction on the lady's part from an acute religious
tension, but the priest had noticed Miss Marshall was awakening to a
livelier enjoyment of her surroundings. The spontaneity and freedom of
her laughter, on one or two occasions, had caused him a certain
uneasiness. Not that Father Burke was averse to merriment. Too much of
it, however, for this particular maiden and at this critical period,
might cause a divergence from the Holy Roman path along which he now was
escorting her. So he gave some interesting facts concerning this summer
residence of the Boyds, winding up with the information that the hunting
and fishing, all about there, were unusual.
"But we women cannot hunt and fish all day!"
"Perhaps it's like Heaven," said Pats, "where there's nothing to do
except to realize what a good time you are having."
"I hope that is not your idea of a woman's ambition."
"What better business on a summer's day?"
"Many things," replied the priest, "if she has a soul to expand and a
mind to cultivate."
"But I was speaking of the natural, unvarnished woman we all enjoy and
are not afraid of."
Miss Marshall, in a politely contemptuous manner, inquired, "Then,
personally, you find the intelligent woman of high ideals less congenial
than--the other kind?"
"I find the superior woman with a gift of language is a thing that makes
brave men tremble. I think wisdom should be tempered with mercy."
After a pause, and with a touch of sarcasm, she replied:
"That is quite interesting. A fresh point of view always broadens the
horizon."
Ignoring her tone, he answered in an off-hand, amiable way:
"Of course there is no reason why a woman should not enter politics or
anything else, if she wishes. And there is no reason why a rose should
not aspire to be a useful potato. But potatoes will always be cheaper
than roses."
She smiled wearily and leaned back. As their eyes met he detected a look
of disappointment--perhaps at her discovery of yet one more man like all
the others, earthy and superficial. But she merely said, and in a gentle
tone:
"You forget that while all men are wise, all women are not beautiful."
With a deep sigh he replied, "The profundity of your contempt I can only
guess at. Whatever it is, I share it. We are a poor lot.
"'At thirty, man suspects himself a fool;
Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan.'