A CABIN WINDOW
After the first dazed instant, the girl had a wild inclination to laugh.
She suppressed it with the explosive struggle of suppressing a sneeze.
Poor, dear Tony! It would be cruel to make fun of him, more cruel than
if the top of his head had been blown off! For him--especially at this
moment of his high boasting--it was tragic to be made ridiculous. But it
was funny--frightfully funny--to see his expression of stunned rage at
the accident, as he dried his face and hair with a faintly fragrant,
monogramed handkerchief, and wiped something fizzing out of his eyes.
Of course it--whatever it was--must have been an accident. Yet it was
odd, or perhaps merely fortunate, that all the liquid had spurted over
Severance, not a drop spattering the girl's blue toque. That thought
darted through the mind of Marise, and prompted a quick turn of the
head. At the open stateroom window behind the deck chairs stood someone
whose face she could not see. In fact, the presence of this person was
indicated only by a ginger-beer bottle still pointing, pistol-like, at
Lord Severance's back. The bottle was almost empty, its contents having
been discharged in one rush, and a mere inoffensive froth now dribbled
over the window-sill. This vision told at a glance what had occurred.
The glass ball inside the mouth of the bottle had been pushed with too
great violence. But why, why, had the experiment been made at the
window? Was it the act of a stupid steward, or----
An answer to the question flashed into the girl's brain, and again it
was all she could do to control a shriek of laughter. (She had an
inconvenient sense of humour, inherited from Louis Sorel, and earnestly
discouraged by her mother.) What if--but no! The creature wouldn't dare.
Or would he?
"Sorry!" said a voice. "Accident, I assure you. Hope the lady wasn't
touched."
With this, Marise knew that the creature had dared. Though she had never
heard the "blighter" speak, she was as certain of his identity as of her
own. That, then, was his stateroom window. He had disappeared from the
deck intending to do the thing, and he had done it. From his own point
of view he had done it with deadly skill, and she was sure he knew
without asking that "the lady" had not been "touched." Of course, he had
heard what Severance said, and this was his revenge for past and present
insults. It was, no doubt, the deed of a cad, or a mischievous
schoolboy, but arriving on top of Severance's last words, thus douching
the doucher, it was so neat that it hit the girl's sense of drama as the
beer had hit the "brass hat."
She wanted to say, "No, I wasn't touched, thank you." But Severance
would never forgive her for bandying words with the bounder. She
expected Tony to speak--to say something, if only a "Damn you!" which
would have been almost excusable even in the presence of ladies. But to
her surprise he left the disguised defiance unanswered.
"Disgusting!" he exclaimed impersonally. "Creatures like that ought to
be caged. I'm afraid I must retire for repairs. But I'll be back in a
few minutes. You won't go away, will you?"
"No, indeed," Mary Sorel assured him. "What a shocking shame. Poor Lord
Severance! But how much worse if it had been ale or stout! Think of the
horrid odour--and the stains on your beautiful coat!"
"It would have been ale or stout if the ship wasn't 'dry' on account of
a few returning soldiers!" said Severance with extreme bitterness, as he
got up. "I wonder it wasn't ink. Only ink doesn't spurt."
He crushed his wet cap over his wet hair, and went off, mumbling like
distant thunder. Behind the chairs, the beer-bottle window slid shut,
but Marise fancied she heard through the thick stained glass a wild
chortle of joy.
Mrs. Sorel closed her book, with the lorgnettes to mark her page, and
leaned across Tony's empty chair.
"Marise, you laughed!" she reproved her daughter. "How could you?"
"I didn't, I only boo-higgled in my throat."
"I wish you'd be more careful," cautioned the elder woman. "If you're
not, take it from me, you may be sorry yet. Tony is worried about
something. I noticed it the moment we came on board. You know what an
instinct I have! I feel as if--but I mustn't tell you now. He may get to
his stateroom and hear us."
"What makes you think he could hear us from his stateroom?" asked
Marise. "Do you know where it is?"
"Why, yes," replied the other. "I was with him when he chose the place
for our chairs. You were in our cabin showing Celine what to unpack. He
pointed out his window, and--but my goodness!"
A gasp stopped her words. Marise followed the direction of the puzzled
or startled brown eyes. They stared at the window just closed, from
whose sill ginger-beer continued to drip.
"Is that his room?" breathed the girl.
"I thought that was the window, but I must be mistaken, of course.
Probably it's the next one--on my side or yours."
Marise let the question drop. She wasn't pining to confide the contents
of her mind. Besides, her conjectures were too vague for words. In
striving to frame them she would surely laugh, and Mums would think her
a callous wretch.
Mrs. Sorel, anxious to be overheard saying the right thing, if she were
overheard at all, began to chat about friends who had sent flowers or
telegrams on board. Each name she mentioned had a "handle." She liked
Lord Severance to be reminded casually now and then that her girl had
titled admirers outside the circle he had brought round them. But Marise
was not listening. She was putting two and two together.
When she suggested that the V.C. had been billeted in Tony's cabin, Tony
had said neither "yes" nor "no," now she came to think of it. He had
caught at another branch of the subject which she elected to pursue. He
hadn't wanted her to know that the loathed Major Garth was his
room-mate. Why? Oh, he would feel it humiliating to his _amour propre_.
He had wished to buy a cabin for himself alone, and had been told that
it was too late: "the company would do their best, but could not
promise." Then, fate and the company's good intentions had picked out
the one companion he would least have chosen.
It was almost too queer, and too bad, to be true; yet the more she
thought of it the truer it seemed. Her mother's impression about the
window--and the lack of surprise Severance had shown after the
"accident." Once recovered from the shock, he wore an air of having got
what might have been expected. He hadn't even looked over his wet
shoulder to glare at the sniper. Oh, Marise saw it all now! Tony had
made his last remarks for the benefit of the _bete noire_, believing he
had gone to the mutual cabin, but not dreaming how far a bounder, in
bounding, might bound for revenge. She would have given a good deal to
know whether Severance had now joined his room-mate in their quarters,
and if so, what was going on.
In a hand-to-hand fight Severance would be apt to get second best with
Samson, unless skill should master strength. Was that why he had flung
back no challenge? But, of course, it couldn't be; Tony was not a
coward. He had merely kept his temper to save a scene. Nevertheless, she
wished that Garth hadn't shut the window!