On reaching the yacht I went directly to the old gentleman’s office and
handed him Cammerford’s letter, which he tore open, read, and tossed on
the desk.
“Mr. Hemster,” said I, while an emotion which I had not suspected
myself of possessing caused my voice to tremble a little; “Mr. Hemster,
I don’t know how I can thank you for what you have done for me to-day.”
“Oh, that’s all right, that’s all right!” he said gruffly, as if the
reference annoyed him. “What you need is a guardian.”
“I think,” said I, “I have secured one.”
The old gentleman glanced up at me quickly.
“Is that so? Well, if the land lays as I have suspected, I congratulate
you. Yes, and I congratulate Hilda also. As for a guardian, you have
chosen a good one, and now don’t begin to thank me over again, but go
and tell her all about it.”
Thus dismissed, I went to the saloon, and there found the lady of whom
I was in search, and persuaded her to come up on deck with me. In spite
of the vexatious interruption to which we had been forced to submit at
this spot, I had become attached to the locality of the two chairs and
the wicker table.
“I like this place,” said I, “for its associations, and yet I am
certain, the moment we begin to talk, Mr. Hemster will order me
overboard, or his daughter will tell you to go down below.”
“There is no immediate danger,” answered Hilda. “Mr. Hemster is busy,
and his daughter has not returned from Nagasaki; I suspect, however,
that you should be down in the office helping your chief, rather than
up here frivolously gossiping with me.”
“I am obeying orders in being up here. My chief, as you call him, told
me to search you out and tell you all about it.”
“All about what?”
“Did you tell Mr. Hemster anything of our conversation after I left?”
“Not a word. Poor dear, his mind was occupied with other matters. He
talked about you, and fished,--in, oh, such an awkward way,--to find
out what I thought of you. He gave me much good counsel which I shall
ever treasure, and he warned me to beware of fascinating young men, and
not allow myself to become too deeply interested. Indeed I yearned to
let him know that his caution was already too late; but, not being sure
whether that would ease his mind or cause it greater anxiety, I held my
peace. I wish you would tell him. Perhaps I should do it myself, but I
cannot find the exact words, I am afraid.”
“I’ll tell him with great pleasure. No, to be honest, I have already
told him.”
“Really, and what did he say?”
“Oh, he said I needed a guardian, and I informed him I had already
secured one. He twigged the situation in a moment, congratulated me on
my choice, and ordered me to come and tell you all about it.”
“Tell me all about what? I’ve asked you that before.”
“Why, about the money with which we are to start housekeeping. Mr.
Hemster estimates that it will amount to something more than half a
million.”
Hilda sat back in her chair with a remote resemblance to a frown on her
pretty brow.
“That was what you were discussing with Mr. Hemster, was it?” she said
primly.
“Of course. Don’t you think it most important?”
“I suppose it is.”
“He certainly thought so, and looked on me as very fortunate coming
into such a tidy sum so easily.”
“Easily! Did he, indeed?”
“Yes, he’s awfully pleased about it, and so am I.”
“I am delighted to hear it.”
“He said you would be, and he regards me as more than lucky, which, to
tell the truth, I acknowledge that I am. You see it was such a complete
surprise. I hadn’t expected anything at all, and to find myself
suddenly the possessor of such a sum, all because of a few words,
seemed almost too good to be true.”
Hilda was leaning back in her chair; there was no question about
the frown now, which was visible enough, and, as I prattled on, the
displeasure in her speaking eyes became deeper and deeper.
“All because of a few words!” she murmured, as if talking to herself.
“Certainly. Plain, simple, straightforward words, yet look what an
effect they had. They practically make me an independent man, even
rich, as I should count riches, although I suppose Mr. Hemster wouldn’t
consider the amount very important.”
“Probably not, but you seem to look upon the amount as very, very
important,--even of paramount importance, I should say.”
“Oh, not of paramount importance, of course, but nevertheless I shall
always regard this day as the most fortunate of my life.”
“Really? Because of the money, I suppose?”
“Now, Hilda,” I protested, “you must admit that money is exceedingly
necessary.”
“I do admit it. So Mr. Hemster was more pleased about your getting the
money than anything else?”
“Oh, I don’t say that, but he certainly was delighted with my luck,
and what true friend wouldn’t be? I am sure my people at home will be
overjoyed when they hear the news.”
“Because of the money?” reiterated Hilda, with more of irritation in
her tone than I had ever heard there before.
“Why not? Such a lump of gold is not won every day.”
“By a few simple words,” suggested Hilda tartly.
“Exactly. If you choose the psychological moment and use the right
words they form a great combination, I can tell you, and success is
sure to follow.”
“Deserving man! I think those that called you a fool were mistaken,
don’t you?”
“Yes, I rather imagine they are, and in fact that has been admitted.”
“So you and Mr. Hemster have been discussing this money question down
in your office?”
“Yes, at first, of course. I began about the money at once, and thanked
him sincerely for what he had done.”
“You were quite right; if it had not been for him there would have been
no money to make you so jubilant.”
“That’s exactly what I told him. ‘Mr. Hemster’ said I, ‘if it had not
been for your action I should never have got a penny.’”
“Well,” said Hilda, with a little break in her voice that went right
to my heart and made me ashamed of myself, while the moisture gathered
in her eyes, “and so you and Mr. Hemster at last got to me, and began
to discuss me after the money question had been exhausted. Really, I
suppose I should be thankful to have received so much attention. I wish
I had known that gold occupied so large a space in your thoughts, and
then I should have entered more accurately into particulars. I told you
the amount was two or three times the face value of the stock, but it
is what you say, over half a million, and now if you don’t mind I shall
go downstairs for a while.”
“I do mind. I want to speak to you, Hilda.”
“I would rather not talk any more just now. If you are wise you will
say nothing until I have had time to think it all over.”
“But I never claimed to be wise, Hilda. Sit down again, I beg of you.
Indeed you must, I shall not let you go at this juncture.”
The flash in her eyes chased away the mist that had veiled them.
“Sir,” she cried, “you are only making matters worse. If you have any
care for me, say no more until I see you again.”
“Hilda,” said I, “I can make it all right with you in five minutes.
What will you bet?”
“If you are jesting, I am tired of it. Can’t you see I don’t want to
talk. Don’t you understand you have said enough? Do be content. I wish
I hadn’t a penny of money, and that I had never told you.”
I now became aware that I was on the horns of a dilemma; I had gone
too far, as a stupid man will who thinks he is on the track of a joke.
The dear girl was on the verge of tears, and I saw that if I suddenly
proclaimed the jest her sorrow would turn into anger against me, and
my last state might be worse than my first. I had got this joke by the
tail, and the whole dilemma arose through not knowing whether it was
safer to hang on or let go. I quickly decided to hang on. I trusted
to escape by reason of our national reputation for unreadiness, and
determined to stand to my guns and proclaim that all along I had been
speaking of my own fortune and not of hers. My obtuseness she would
pity and forgive, but ill-timed levity and trifling with her most
cherished feelings on this day of all others might produce consequences
I dared not face.
“Hilda,” I said, with what dignity I could bring to my command, “you
actually seem sorry at my good fortune. I assure you I expected you
would rejoice with me. When I spoke to you this morning I was to all
intents and purposes a penniless man, and yet, as Mr. Hemster himself
informed you, I had but an hour before refused two hundred and fifty
thousand dollars as a bribe. That money was but half of the fortune
which this man Cammerford had previously looted from me. Now, through
a few simple words in the letter Mr. Hemster wrote to him, this man is
going to refund the whole half million, with interest for three years
at six per cent. Therefore, my darling, imagine the delight with which
I learned of this great stroke of good luck. No living person could
assert here or hereafter that I was an impecunious fortune-hunter,
although equally, of course, no person could have convinced you that
your money weighed a particle with me when I asked you to honour me as
you have done. And now, really perhaps I am too sensitive, but it seems
to me that you do not take the news so kindly as I had expected.”
She swayed a moment, then sank helplessly down into the armchair again.
“Rupert,” she said, looking across at me with a puzzled pathos in her
eyes that made me ashamed of myself; “Rupert, what are you talking
about? Or am I dreaming? What half million is this you are referring
to? I told you that my fortune was two or three times the hundred
thousand, but I supposed you had found out its real value. Now you seem
to have been speaking of something else.”
“Hilda,” I cried, with a horror that I hope was well simulated,--Lord
forgive me for the necessity of using it,--“Hilda, you never supposed
for a moment that I was referring to _your_ money?”
Her troubled face seemed fixed on something intangible in the distance,
as if her mind were trying to recall our conversation, that she might
find some point in what I had said to account for the mistake she
supposed herself to have made. The double meaning of my words was
apparent enough, but of course every sentence I had uttered applied
to her money equally well with my own. Now that enlightenment had
come, her supposed error became obtrusively plain to her. She turned
her puzzled face to me, and her expression melted into one of great
tenderness as she reached forward her two hands and laid her palms on
the back of mine, which rested on the wicker table.
“Rupert,” she said in a low voice, “will you forgive me? I have deeply
misjudged you.”
“Hilda,” said I, “would you have forgiven me if I had been in the
wrong?”
“I would, I would, I would,” she cried, and it was plain that she meant
it, yet I did not dare to risk a full confession. What brutes we men
are after all, and how much we stand in need of forgiveness every day
of our lives!
“Tell me all about this newly found treasure,” she said, and now I
launched out on fresh ground once more, resolving never to get on
such thin ice again after so narrow an escape. As we talked, the
indefatigable little naphtha launch came alongside, and Gertrude
Hemster appeared at the gangway, followed by her miniature Countess.
Miss Hemster was good enough to ignore us entirely, and, after a few
words to her new companion, disappeared down the companion-way. The
Countess toddled up to where we sat, and, addressing Hilda, said in her
high-keyed Japanese voice:
“Mees Stretton, the mistress desires your attendance immediately,” and
with that she toddled away again. Hilda rose at once.
“Don’t go,” I commanded; but she smiled, and held out her hand to me.
“Isn’t it funny,” she said; “you and I together are equal to one
millionaire, yet we have to dance attendance when called upon, but,
unlike others in bondage, we don’t need to cry, ‘How long, O Lord! how
long?’ do we?”
“Not on your life, Hilda, as they say in the Wild West. The day of
jubilee is a-coming my dear,” and, in spite of her trying to slip away,
I put my arm around her and drew her toward me.
“Oh, the captain is looking at us,” she whispered in alarm.
“The captain is a good friend of ours, and has done the same in his
time, I dare say,” and with that I----. Hilda swung herself free and
fled, red as a rose. On glancing up at the bridge I noticed that the
captain had suddenly turned his back on us. I always did like that
rough man from Cape Cod, who would haunt the bridge during his waking
hours whether the ship had steam up or not.