She was silent for a moment. Then I got it hot and heavy.
"Dick Preble, do you mean to stand there with a face like a Hindoo idol
and tell me that six of you made a bargain with that wretched French
cook to give old Uncle Elijah up?"
"It was Goff's own proposal," I hastened to say, "and he insisted upon
it--wouldn't have it any other way. Let us hope that he knew what he
was doing--that he has some plan that may turn out better for us than
a voyage in the long-boat." Then I switched forcibly, endeavoring to
drag the talk away from the vicinity of Bonteck's secret. Thus far it
had been kept hidden through all the various vicissitudes, and I didn't
intend to be the first to betray it. "Goff's play was heroic, and all
that, but not a bit more so than Jerry Dupuyster's swim out to the
yacht. I'm taking back all the insulting things I've been saying about
that young man, Conetta, dear. In spite of the frills and the idleness
and the English apings, he is a man, a grown man, and altogether worthy
of a good woman's love and respect. Now I've said it and I feel better."
She looked up quickly, with that pert little cocking of her head that I
had always loved.
"Worthy of _my_ love and respect, do you mean?"