Toward the end of that day it became evident, in the west, that
preparations were going on for an American sunset. Preliminary colors,
chiefly gold and crimson, crept swiftly across the sky. These colors,
more dazzling as the sun approached the water, were caught and tossed
about upon the surface of the sea until all the universe seemed ablaze.
Of this gorgeous spectacle Elinor Marshall, in a sheltered corner of the
deck, was an appreciative witness.
Pats, in his mercy, had decided to allow the lady a respite from his
society, at least during a portion of the afternoon. The lady, however,
was so much more interesting than anything else aboard that he finally
ignored his better judgment. And now, leaning against the rail in front
of her, he found the sunset duller, more monotonous and commonplace than
the human combination in the steamer-chair. She, however, her head
thrown back, with half-closed eyes, seemed fascinated by the glories in
the west, and almost unconscious of his presence. As too much staring
might cause annoyance, he did most of it on the sly. And the opportunity
was good. As a mystery, she proved an absorbing study: an irresistible
blending of contradictions, of sympathy and reserve, of sadness--and of
wit--of a character and temperament not half-divulged. Whenever their
eyes met, he felt a mild commotion, a curious, unfamiliar
excitement,--something that made him less at ease. For it invariably
brought the keenest anxiety as to her good opinion. He also experienced
a consciousness of guilt; why, he knew not, unless from the expression
of her eyes. They seemed to be reading his thoughts, and to be a trifle
saddened by the result. That, in itself, was disconcerting.
He began to see why those other fellows were in love with her. Although
fireproof himself, he understood, now that he knew her better, the
nature of the conflagration that devoured the men in Boston.
In her sensitive face, in her reserve, and in her sometimes melancholy
air, he saw traces of inward struggles between a passionate, impulsive,
pleasure-loving nature and standards of virtue unattainably high. And
when he remembered that she was doomed to the seclusion of a convent,
that this life, with every promise of being exceptionally rich and full,
was to be crushed, deadened and forever lost to the outer human world,
his resentment became difficult to suppress. He wondered, in a hot,
disjointed way, if there was no possibility of a rescue.
Awakening from a revery, she caught him in the act, regarding her with
earnest eyes, and with a frown. He also came back to earth--or to the
boat--suddenly, and he observed a slight movement of her eyebrows as in
surprise or disapproval. With a guilty air, he looked away, and she
wondered if the warmer color in his mahogany cheeks came entirely from
the sunset. After an awkward silence, he said.
"I beg your pardon for staring at you. You are so very contradictory,
and in so many ways, that I took the liberty of guessing at your real
character; whether after all you are unpleasantly perfect, or whether it
is merely your luck to possess an awe-inspiring exterior."