"No, Norah dear, I would rather see him alone, thank you."
"But won't you tell me what your plan is?"
This, also, Netta refuses. For the very good reason that she has no
plan; that is, nothing definite. Only she has a vague idea that
their sole hope--and a very faint hope, too--lies in Dick Baynes. He
may not be able to suggest any means of help; but if he cannot, there
is no one else who can.
The stalwart young seaman, on entering the room, finds Netta Sheridan
looking a very picture.
He does not know--how should he--that she has taken a good deal of
pains to produce this effect. All the electric lights except one
have been turned out, and this one is selected to cast a soft light
on the girl as she reclines gracefully on a couch, leaving the rest
of the room in shadow.
So Baynes, when he comes in, has his eyes directed at once towards a
very attractive _tableau vivant_. There are soft glints of light
reflected in the girl's ashen-gold hair, and a pair of pleading grey
eyes shine on him very effectively.
"You've sent for me, miss?"--the man speaks in an awed hushed voice,
like a devotee before his idol in a temple.
"Yes, Baynes--Dick. I thought that I should like to see you again
and talk to you."
She had never called him "Dick" before, not in all those happy days
in Glasgow!
Is it a matter for wonder that after a few more doses of this
diplomatic kind, Baynes is easily reduced to the state of mind which
Netta desires?
But the girl has no intention of wasting time; idle dalliance is a
thing she has no use for, except so far as it can serve her purpose;
and to her purpose she presently comes.
"Now I want your advice and help, Dick, in a very difficult
situation," she tells him. "It was partly for this reason that I
asked you to come."
"Yes, miss? If there is anything I can do, you can depend on me to
do it. Tell me what it is."
"Well, it's just this." Having come to the point, Netta finds some
difficulty in expressing herself. There is such a very little that
will bear telling. Baynes must not know a single word about the
conspiracy to blow up the _Marathon_. It is sincerely to be hoped
that he has not yet heard the news that the ship is lost; but even if
he has heard this, he must be kept from all suspicion of any
connection between that disaster and the presence of the Sheridans'
party at the base.
"It's just this," she repeats. "I can't tell you everything, you
know, because it's such a delicate matter. If I keep anything from
you, it is because I think I ought not to tell it, and you must just
trust me. _Can_ you trust me?"
"You know I can, miss," thrills the deep-toned reply. "I would trust
you with my life!"
The dark sweeping eyelashes are raised to let a languorous look of
gratitude escape from the grey eyes and in an instant are lowered
again.
"It is about Norah. She is in very great danger. She has met
someone here this afternoon, an officer, who has somehow managed to
discover a secret of her past life which she would give anything to
keep from him."
"Yes, miss? Well, I am sure it can't be anything shameful, whatever
it is. Does it matter so very much?"
"It matters very much, indeed; it is almost a matter of life and
death. And the dreadful part of it is that he is sure to go and tell
the admiral at the earliest possible opportunity."
"He ought to be stopped, miss."
"Yes, of course he ought. But"--with a smile of engaging
frankness--"are you quite sure you ought to be listening to me?
Don't you think we may be spies, all three of us?"
An indignant protest is his answer to this, and more protestations of
the most complete trust.
"If any means could be found of preventing this Mr. Stapleton--that
is the officer's name--from telling the admiral what he has found out
about Norah, she would never cease to be grateful to you."
Dick Baynes does not appear greatly impressed. Netta remarks this
fact.
"And _I_ should be more than grateful, too," she adds.
"Would you?" A very different look comes over the man's face.
"Yes, of course I should. But can you suggest any means of stopping
his mouth?"
"Only one, miss," Baynes replies, revolving the matter slowly in his
simple mind. "I'm a pretty strong chap, you know; I might have to
hurt him a little--nothing to speak of, you know, only just enough to
lay him up for a few days, till you can get away back to Glasgow."
Netta is horrified at the idea.
"How dare you suggest such a thing?" she cries, flushing with
indignation. "What! Do you think that I should allow you to--to
play the part of the hired assassin----"
"I didn't say _kill_ him, miss; I only meant that I would put him out
of action, so to speak, for a little while," murmurs the man
apologetically.
"Well, to act the bully and ruffian, then. It is much the same
thing. I am disappointed in you, Mr. Baynes. I did think that a man
of your intelligence and cleverness might be able to find some means
of helping me out of a difficulty. But never mind! I dare say I
have alarmed myself needlessly--the troubles one frets and worries
over often vanish when the time comes, don't they? And if not--well,
it's only two girls that will have to suffer. Thank you all the
same."
This is quite unendurable. Baynes becomes on the instant a limp and
crushed mass of denials, protests, and eager avowals that he will do
anything his idol desires of him and nothing she objects to; that her
wishes are all and all to him, and that she must pardon him for even
imagining she meant him to use brute force--of course such an idea
was far below her--and so on and so forth. To put it shortly, he is
brought to just such a state of mind as Netta intended him to be.
She rewards and pacifies him with a smile, and graciously takes him
into favour again.
No question about it, a censorious world would pronounce the opinion
that Netta was not quite nice, judging from the part she is playing
at present; but it must be remembered in her defence that she is
fighting for one who is very dear to her, her wilful, headstrong
cousin Norah, who is too brave and fearless to do anything for her
own safety.
"I promise you, miss, that I will think of something that will put
matters right for you and Miss Norah. Only you took me rather sudden
like; when I turn it over in my mind a bit I shall find some way to
manage it, never fear!" With such words Baynes endeavours to
reinstate himself in Netta's good graces.
"But you must do it at once; there is no time to waste," she urges
him.
"Certainly, miss, that's right. I quite see that." But his actions
did not bear out his words, for he makes no motion to go away, but on
the contrary draws rather nearer to the anxious girl.
"Then why don't you go?" she asks bluntly. Having gained her
purpose, Netta is unable to see any reason why the interview should
be prolonged.
Dick Baynes, however, does not see matters in quite the same light.
"Because I want to know what my reward is to be if I do this for
you," he answers.
Netta's pretty mouth curls contemptuously. "What?" she taunts him.
"You want payment? I thought you would help me out of friendship!"
"For friendship? No--but for love!" he cries in a voice vibrating
with passion. "That is all the payment I require, and that you must
and shall give me!"
With a rapid stride he comes to her and kneels beside her couch,
taking her into his arms. She neither repels him nor accepts his
rough caresses, but remains listless, cold and indifferent.
To tell the truth, she is just a little bit frightened--frightened,
and still more annoyed. She did not expect this development, and is
not at all pleased with it.
Women are like this occasionally; they play with fire, and are quite
shocked to make the discovery that fire burns.
It is very pretty and feminine and all that sort of thing to adopt a
seductive manner, but the lady who does so ought not to be altogether
unprepared to find herself successful as a seductress.
Netta has been willing to make use of her handsome sailor as a
convenient machine; it comes upon her like a cold douche to find that
he is a man!
And a real live warm-blooded man, strong and forceful in his desires
and most insistent in his manner of expressing them.
He has cast all diffidence to the winds now. Forgetting his present
position and the difference in their respective stations, forgetting
everything else, he only remembers that she is a woman and that he
loves her.
"I am hungry for you, Netta," he cries, his simple, homely speech
setting forth his appeal far dearer than any finer phrases could
do--"hungry for you, and 'tis none but you can still the aching in my
heart! 'Tis you alone I want, and I have wanted you since first I
saw you. Give me yourself and I am yours to do what you will with!"
His strong arms press the girl close to his heart and he rains
passionate kisses upon her face.
With an effort Netta succeeds in releasing herself, pushing him
gently away; not angrily, with the hot indignation of an outraged
maiden, nor yet coquettishly as one who would by a feigned repulse
encourage further advances; simply, she does not greatly care. This
unforeseen turn of events strikes her as rather a nuisance, that is
all; it introduces an element that may interfere with her plans.
Yet, on the other hand, it may have its uses; so it is as well to
take up a non-committal attitude.
"Is this quite honourable?" she asks coldly, "to take advantage of my
distress and to make a bargain with me for my love?"
"Honourable or not," comes his ready answer, "it is the only chance I
have with you, and I am going to take it. I know well that you would
never listen to me if it were not for this, and you must not blame a
desperate man if he makes use of the power that chance puts into his
hands. I want you, and I am going to have you for my own!"
Netta looks closely at him. The man is so terribly in earnest. His
fine, handsome face is lighted up with the kindling fires of his
love, and in his eyes tenderness and eagerness are clashing in
conflict. No doubt he is a fine figure of a man, and if a girl
should fall in love for good looks alone, she need not go further
than this very impetuous and ardent sailor.
She gives a tiny sigh, so small that it escapes her lover's notice.
But that sigh means a great deal. It means, "If I had no other
matters to think about, and if I felt myself capable of loving any
one and if this man were not what he is, and if----"
A greater "if" than all these still confronts her; if she does not
consent to his bargain, then she cannot hope that he will make the
effort to save Norah. This has to be faced at once, and there is
only one way of facing it.
"Tell me, girl, tell me," urges her seaman lover again, seizing both
her hands and forcing her eyes to meet his own, "do you agree? If I
help you, will you give me your promise to be mine? I will trust
you. I know you will keep your word. Otherwise----"
He does not finish his sentence.
"I suppose so," Netta's consent, given in a low whisper, is not very
encouraging, but Baynes appears to be content with it.
"Then seal the bargain with me," he cries. Netta coldly turns her
cheek towards him, as a girl might do for the chaste salute of an
aged priest or a maiden aunt.
"No," exclaims the sailor, "that will not do for me. If you are
going to give me yourself, you must give me an earnest of it now."
There is no doubt as to his meaning; indeed, he helps her to
understand, by placing both his big, strong hands upon that mass of
pale gold hair coiled on her head, and drawing her lips to his own
eager ones.
It seems an eternity before he releases her. An eternity which
gradually blackens into an eternity of shame. She would struggle and
escape from it, but she is held as though in a vice.
When her seared lips are at last set free, she falls back upon the
couch, her cheeks burning red and her eyes ready to burst into tears.
"Now go!" she says briefly, and in such a tone that Baynes is wise
enough to obey at once without another word.
And when the door closes behind him, then the bitter tears fall
indeed, as Netta realises what a price she has paid and still must
pay for the bargain she has made.