We stayed there at the cave much longer than we had planned. At times,
during the forenoon, conscience smote us.
“Really, they’ll be worrying about us on the yacht,” said I.
“They certainly will,” agreed Betty.
“They’re probably getting ready to sail now.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“We’re short-handed; I ought to be there to help,” I suggested.
“You certainly had.”
“We’d better go.”
“Oh, positively!”
And then we would forget the yacht, the imminence of sailing,
everything but ourselves, for a considerable space of time. It was all
a little too wonderful for me to grasp intelligently, but Betty
accepted it with the woman’s genius for such events.
“I don’t understand?” I repeated over and over. “You had an
understanding with George while I was knocked out, and George seemed
satisfied?”
“Yes; he was satisfied, dear. He was fine enough and strong enough to
be that.”
“And you told him?”
“Gardy, dearest! Are you going to make me say it after all?”
“Positively. You know I’m harsh and stern. You told George——”
She clasped her arms about me, pressing against my breast, surrender
and victory in her upturned face.
“I told him that I loved you. I told him that if you didn’t get
well—oh, my boy, my boy! I was so frightened over you!”
“And George was satisfied with that?”
“Yes. He had accepted it by that time. He said he knew it from the
moment I came on board, and he knew now that it was all right.”