"Naturally, my dear fellow," said Franklin. "The ladies must have a man
to look after them. Don't forget, three-thirty."
The first officer was on the bridge. Franklin made for the Captain's
state-room. McLeod, in his shirt sleeves, with a pipe between his
teeth, was reading a magazine.
"Don't move," said Franklin. "Just listen. Make a beeline at once for
the nearest place where my wife and her friends can be put ashore. Then
have the big launch ready. Load it with all the luggage except my
wife's. Have hers ready to dump into the other launch, but don't lower
it. Put Jones in charge and get Mrs. Larpent, Mrs. Keene, Mr. Fraser
and the French maid into the launch. As soon as she's well away, the
first officer will take a signal from me to pass on to you on the
bridge. I'll raise my right hand above my head. He will do the same.
That will mean full steam ahead and out to sea. Jones will land his
party and come after us. Is all that clear?"
"Quite clear, sir, thank you!" said the Captain.
"Good," said Franklin.
As one man left the state-room the other got up and put on his coat and
cap. There was a smile of approval on his face as he did so. "A very
pleasant idea," he thought, "to run away with one's wife."
*XXV*
Lunch was a strange meal that day.
Mrs. Larpent was angry. Her plans lay all about her feet like a pack of
cards. If there was one thing she resented more than any other it was
to be coerced. The cruise might have been so useful. In his present
state of mind, as she wrongly judged it, she had seen a way to bind
Franklin to herself more closely than it had appeared possible in her
most optimistic moments. She had been jarred by what Beatrix had said
that morning as to going ashore but had determined to make a huge effort
to remain aboard. Franklin's attitude in the gymnasium, however, made
it quite plain that he did not want her. She was to go with the rest.
It was the most bitter disappointment of her life. Her heart as well as
her pocket was hurt, and both needed comfort. It required all her
courage to enable her to play up to Beatrix's incessant
light-heartedness during the meal.
Mrs. Lester Keene made very little attempt to disguise her joy at her
impending release. Her own personal comfort came in front of her
anxiety as to what must happen to Beatrix.
Malcolm Fraser was worried and puzzled. His sympathy was equally
divided between his friend and the girl he loved. The cruise, which he
hoped would bring them together, was a failure. Propinquity and sea air
had refused to work for once. He was intensely sorry. He was in the
dark as to what had happened but he knew that Franklin was hard hit
because he wanted to be alone. It was a sure sign. He refused to ask
himself what was going to happen. There must be trouble and scandal and
heart-burnings and probably punishment and he regarded them all as the
spoilers of life.
He knew enough of Beatrix to be certain that in leaving the yacht in
this abrupt manner she intended to give herself up to her people and
never see Franklin again if she could help it. What a pity!
Franklin was quieter even than usual, but there was something in his
eyes that made Beatrix curious. Her quick observation missed nothing.
Just before lunch came to an end she looked squarely at him, with a
straight face and said, "You're going to begin to enjoy yourself now,
aren't you?"
"By Jove, yes," he said, with a ring of sincerity in his voice which set
Malcolm puzzling again.
And then the imp sat itself on Beatrix's shoulder. "I wonder you ever
bothered to get married," she said, with a little laugh.
All eyes turned upon her. Her audacity was epoch-making.
"It isn't good for man to live alone," said Franklin quietly.
"But you agree with modern thinkers that married people need a holiday
from time to time, is that it?"
"Something like that," he replied, showing his teeth.
Beatrix looked round the table. She saw the same expression on the
faces of all her party. "When shall we all meet again, do you suppose?"
"The sooner the better," said Franklin, with that touch of old-fashioned
courtesy that he must have inherited from his grandfather. "Let's make
an engagement to dine together one night at Sherry's during Christmas
week. There may be a good deal to talk about by that time."
"I'll be there," said Malcolm.
"And I," said Mrs. Larpent, who had already begun to set the machinery
of her brain at work. Many things might be made to happen before
Christmas.
"I shall have great pleasure," said Mrs. Keene.
"But, my dear Pelham," cried Beatrix, with mock amazement, "am I to be a
grass widow all that time?" She got up before Franklin could find an
answer. "Come along, Brownie. Let's go and see how Helene is getting on
with the packing. Hope the stewardess is doing good work for you, Mrs.
Larpent. Your lovely frocks need careful handling, don't they?"
Franklin waited until they had gone. Then he turned to Malcolm. "Come
on deck, old man. You've got to know something."
They went forward and stood in the sun. The line of coast was much
nearer than it had been for days. It needed no glasses to see its
formation now and the yellow line of beach on which a good-tempered sea
was breaking.
Malcolm leaned on the rail side by side with the man with whom he had
been at school and university and on many a long trip since. They had
been as close as brothers, these two, with no secrets. They had looked
into each other's eyes over camp fires in many places far away from the
contentious hell of cities and had talked on far into the night of life
and death and the great hereafter. They knew each other in and out,
realized each other's good points and weaknesses. The everlasting
loyalty of friendship that passes the love of women was theirs.
"I knew that you were not going to wind up this cruise, whatever has
happened, without a yarn," said Malcolm.
"Not likely," said Franklin. "We don't do those things."
Malcolm waited while Franklin lit a cigar. Christmas was,--he jotted
the months off on his fingers. There were six. A good place Sherry's.
It ought to be a merry party. Beatrix would see to that,--if she were
not with Aunt Honoria in exile.
"I kissed Beatrix last night," said Franklin abruptly. "I had to. She
was in my blood.... You know her. She blazed. There was a quick spat
out here after dinner. She ordered to be put ashore, called me some
extremely well-deserved names and played bridge as if she were at peace
with the world. Old man, she's everything you said she was and a whole
heap more. I wish to God I'd never met her,--and thank God I have....
This morning she came to my room. I had no intention, by that time, of
obeying her orders as if I were a chauffeur. I was too damned angry.
But she translated herself back into the simple kid that she was when
you put her skates on and sat at her feet. She made pulp of me. I
agreed to everything she asked. She was nearer liking me than I ever
hoped she would be,--I suppose because she got her way so easily. It's
a habit. When she'd gone I did some thinking. I don't know what will
come of it,--probably nothing, because men don't hit women as they
sometimes deserve. But I made up my mind to have another hard try to
win her, to fight like the very devil to keep her and break her in. She
got me into all this by a trick. Very good. I'm going to take a leaf
out of her book. Two can play that game. You're going ashore with Mrs.
Larpent, Mrs. Keene and the maid. I do myself the honor to escort my
so-called wife as soon as the other launch is ready. It never will be
ready. Do you get me? The _Galatea_ puts out again with the honeymoon
couple--alone."