A GIRL’S WILL IS THE WIND’S WILL.
At dinner-time the man in command of the _Merrimac_ was by no means
jealous, although Nina had no words nor looks for him. For she was not
happy in ignoring him. He knew it,--felt it in every fibre of his being.
What a little beauty she was, with her light head and her fascinating
manner,--so lively with him, so quiet and guarded with strangers! He
was madly in love with her now, just like a young fool of a fellow.
Extravagant terms of adoration floated through his mind, and, with the
ardency of twenty, he longed for the time to come when he would be
permitted to utter them.
He had loved her for years, but not like this. He had kept her in a
secret chamber of his heart, ready to be brought out for contemplation
and admiration when he had a moment’s leisure; but now that she was
with him in _propria persona_, lawfully and irrevocably united to
him, he was never free from her bewildering presence,--never for one
instant. Sleeping, waking, following the exacting demands of his duty,
her teasing, roguish face was ever before him; her light eyes gazed
steadily into his dark ones; he was haunted by the ringing words,
“Mine, mine, yet not mine.”
It was balm to his soul that she did not like the exquisite Delessert.
“Probably sees he hasn’t as much brains as I have,” he communed
comfortably with himself, “and has taken a grudge against him on
account of my warning, although she is too obstinate to acknowledge it.
Her attention has left him now,--gone wandering off to the birds and
flowers. What is she pondering, I wonder? Some of the deep, unutterable
thoughts of girlhood, that she neither could nor would utter.
“The young coxcomb had better take care,” he went on to himself, “or he
will get a setback. She has been strictly brought up, my young man, and
will resent any familiarity even if the slightest;” and he dropped his
exultant eyes to the table-cloth, as Nina quietly and decidedly rebuked
her neighbour by a gesture when he offered her the polite and harmless
civility of paring a refractory orange.
“You have done for yourself this time, my man,” pursued Captain
Fordyce, with satisfaction, as Nina left her place, and, steadying
herself by means of outstretched hands laid against the swaying walls
and dodging chairs, skilfully piloted herself from the room. She said
nothing to her husband as she passed him; but he looked over his
shoulder and correctly guessed her destination to be Miss Marsden’s
room.
Before knocking at the door she paused, and pressed her face against
the cold glass of the port-hole beside it. A sweet and regretful wish
for her home came over her. She would like to be with her parents,--no,
not her parents,--the two people whom she considered to be her parents.
They were very dear to her. She would never forget them, never. ’Steban
must take her back to them very soon.
She started as she heard her name pronounced in a singularly pleasing
voice, and, turning around, saw that Mr. Delessert was standing beside
her.
“I fear I have offended you in some way,” he said, in a contrite tone.
“Oh, no, you did not offend me,” she said, shyly. “That is, not much.”
“I am glad you are not deeply incensed,” he went on, with a relieved
air. “It emboldens me to ask a great favour of you.”
Although Nina gave him no encouragement beyond an attentive silence, he
went on, “Is it your intention to spend the evening with Miss Marsden?”
Nina was surprised at his knowledge of the name and habitation of
a person who had not yet made a public appearance; but she said,
graciously, “Yes, if she wants me.”
“If she does not, will you come to the library and play whist? Mrs.
Grayley is much better. She wished me to ask you.”
“I don’t know how to play.”
There were signs of a baffled purpose on his face rather than of
disappointment. After some reflection, he said, “Perhaps you would like
to go and walk on deck.”
“Captain Fordyce asked me not to go up again to-night. The decks are so
shaky.”
He extended a shapely white hand. “Good night, then. I must not detain
you. Perhaps to-morrow you will allow me the pleasure of teaching you
how to play cards?”
“I don’t think I want to know,” she said, seriously; “they do lots
of harm; but I’ll teach you a very funny thing if you can find some
dominoes.”
He gravely assured her that he would be charmed, and was just about
leaving her when he hesitated and turned back. “I beg your pardon, but
I heard Captain Fordyce call you by a very odd and pretty name.”
“What was it?” she asked, wonderingly.
“Nina Stephana, or Stephanie, was it?”
“Oh! Nina Stephana,--he sometimes says it. Stephana is my middle name.”
“Indeed, it is a pleasing one. Strange that it should be the feminine
of your husband’s name.”
“Yes,” said Nina, guardedly, “Esteban is certainly the Spanish for
Stephen.”
“It seems as if your parents must have known of your approaching fate,”
he remarked, mildly, and without emphasis.
“Yes, doesn’t it?” she replied, naïvely.
“I dare say he was attracted by the similarity of names.”
Nina was fidgeting with the ends of ribbon hanging from her belt. “See
here,” she said, suddenly dropping them, and speaking with the utmost
simplicity, “you remember what you were telling me this morning?”
“Our conversation lingers most pleasantly with me.”
“About my husband, and knowing a lady called Nina who has so much
money, and who lost a little girl, and that my husband knew her, too.”
“Pardon me, I don’t think I was quite so exact. I said he might
possibly know her.”
“Well, I must have got confused. I didn’t rightly understand what you
said; but anyway it made me feel bad and suspicious of my husband,
because--well, never mind why--and I promised you I wouldn’t say
anything about it lest it might hurt his feelings. But he is so clever
he just found out, and I think perhaps I had better not talk any more
about him or about myself; for he will tell me everything all in good
time; but I will talk of anything else. Is it a bargain?” and she held
out a little frank hand.
Just for one instant he was touched,--he, the hunter in search of prey.
There was a relaxation in the mask of habitual reserve that he wore, a
softening of the faint but hard lines about the drooping moustache. “It
is a bargain, certainly,” he said, quietly, and he pressed the fingers
confidingly entrusted to him, and stood respectfully silent as she
nodded a gay “Good-bye” and rapped on the door beside her.
Upon being bidden to enter, she went in and seated herself on the
extreme edge of the couch opposite the berth where lay the tall young
lady from Boston.
The girl was the personification of health and good-humour, as she sat
with lips parted, white teeth gleaming in a merry, childish smile, and
eyes fixed steadily on her languid but quietly observing companion.
However, she would not talk. She was not accustomed to the presence of
French maids, and her aversion was so plainly marked that Miss Marsden
humoured her, by saying, “Marie, go for a walk.”
Miss Marsden was decidedly better. She had ceased wishing to be
thrown to the fishes, and had even begun to take a feeble interest
in the affairs of persons about her. This girl seemed particularly
entertaining to her, and Marie had brought her a very spicy bit of
gossip, from Lady Forrest’s maid, with regard to the black-looking
captain who was so domineering and unkind to this “preetty, preetty
leetle wife,” who, in her turn, did not care “at all, at all,” about
him.
Miss Marsden made up her mind to set her talking; and, in a ladylike
yet determined manner, she was soon dragging from the unsuspecting Nina
various particulars with regard to her past life.
The country girl was no match for the city girl, and speedily fell into
the trap, not of direct questions, but of responding to roundabout and
apparently aimless remarks.
“I didn’t say Captain Fordyce was thirty-eight,” she observed, after a
time, in surprised vexation.
Miss Marsden had found out all she wished to know, so she said,
with a superior air, “No, child, but what was the use of the dates
you mentioned if I did not put them together? I was always good at
arithmetic at school.”
“So was I,” retorted Nina; “but I can’t make out how old you are.”
“You never will. If you notice, I carefully avoid figures in my
conversation. It will be a good rule for you to follow ten years hence.”
“Then you are ten years older than I am,” said Nina, pouncing upon her
recommendation.
“Not quite, pussy-cat,” said the young lady; “but I won’t tease you any
more with questions, for now you have found me out, and will settle
down into New England obstinacy. What kind of passengers have we? Who
are the most interesting ones?”
Nina’s eyes sparkled. “A little wee mousie and a big British lion.”
“Sir Hervey and Lady Forrest,” said Miss Marsden, coupling this
information with some obtained from Marie.
“Yes, and a big light-haired dog with an honest kind of a bark.”
“Who is that?”
“Captain Eversleigh, a land, not a sea captain.”
“Oh, that English officer. Marie told me about him. Who else is there?”
“A tall, thin giraffe of a boy called Maybury.”
“Dreadful! And the rest of the menagerie?”
“A very beautiful sleek creature with velvety eyes.”
“Man or woman?”
“Man. I think he’s like a panther.”
“Beware of his tricks, then.”
“He’s a nice panther,--a kind, polite one. Not growly and ugly like a
bear.”
“Ah, there you have got in some one I know,” said Miss Marsden,
teasingly.
“Bears have good qualities,” said Nina, composedly.
“You are not in love with your husband, my dear,” reflected Miss
Marsden; “or, if you are, you are so artlessly artful about it that
one can’t make you out.” Then she said aloud, “Will you hand me that
bottle? I have a wretched headache.”
Nina at once dissolved in compassion. “Do let me smooth your head.
Mamma says I can do it nicely.”
“Well, if you like, child. Why don’t you accent the last a in that
word?”
“I am not English, I am American,” said the girl, warmly.
“You need not fear; no one will ever take you for an English girl,”
replied her companion, as she brushed back the hair from her white
forehead in order to allow Nina’s fingers to wander over it.
“You are a kind little thing,” she murmured, after a few minutes.
Nina, used to the constant companionship of members of her own sex,
had missed them sorely during the last three days; and, touched by the
gracefully uttered words, she bent down and kissed the forehead she was
stroking.
A tear escaped from Miss Marsden’s eyelid. She put up her hand, wiped
it away, and gave Nina an affectionate tap.
“Miss Marsden,” said the girl, hesitatingly, and after some minutes of
silence, “I want to ask you something.”
“Well, child, what is it?” said her new friend, with patronising
kindness.
“It’s about men. When they’re just married don’t you think they ought
to tell their wives everything they know?”
“Of course,” said the young lady, ironically.
“But they don’t, do they?”
“No; they usually start out with a mouth full of lies.”
“About everything, do you mean?”
“Oh, no, only some things. They wouldn’t trouble to lie about
everything.”
“Suppose you had a husband and he told you a story, what would you do?”
“I’d tell him another.”
Nina laughed. “But suppose you couldn’t think of one. Don’t you think
you ought to make him confess and repent?”
“Yes, every time you found him out. But don’t try, my dear. They
are too sharp for us. If you find them out in one thing they’ll try
another.”
“Men are worse than women, aren’t they?”
“Incomparably worse,” said the young lady.
“‘Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever;
One foot in sea and one on shore,
To one thing constant never.’”
Nina was about to make a remark, but closed her mouth with a snap; for
the French maid was just entering the room. She hurriedly surrendered
her post to her, and, bidding Miss Marsden a regretful “Good night,”
ran away to her room.