Six feet one in his stockings, broad-shouldered and without an ounce
of extra flesh, Harvard Weldon suddenly halted before one of a line
of deck chairs.
"I usually get what I want, Miss Dent," he observed suggestively.
"You are more fortunate than most people." Her answering tone was dry.
Most men would have been baffled by her apparent indifference.
Not so was Weldon. Secure in the possession of a good tailor and
an equally good digestion, he was willing to await the leisurely
course of events.
"My doctor always advises mild exercise after lunch," he continued.
"You are in the care of a physician?" she queried, with a whimsical
glance up at his brown face and athletic figure.
"Not just now. I was once, however." She raised her brows in polite
interrogation. Her involuntary thawing of a moment before had given
place to absolute conventionality. Weldon smiled to himself, as he
noted the change. He had been at sea for three days now, and those
three days had been chiefly spent in trying to penetrate the social
shell of his next neighbor at table. It was not so much that Ethel
Dent was undeniably pretty as that he had been piqued by her frosty
reception of his efforts to supplement the services of a careless waiter.
Now, uninvited, he dropped into the empty chair next her own.
"If I may?" he said questioningly, as he raised his cap. "Yes, I
have had a doctor twice. Once was measles, once a collar bone broken
in football. Both times, I was urged to take a walk after luncheon.
Is Miss Arthur--?"
He hesitated for the right word. Still ignoring his obvious hint,
Ethel Dent supplied the word, without charity for her luckless
chaperon. "Horridly seasick." She pointed out to the level
steely-gray sea. "And on this duck-pond," she added.
Her accent was expressive. Weldon laughed.
"Perhaps she isn't as used to the duck-pond as you are."
The girl brushed a lock of vivid gold hair from her eyes; then she
sat up, to add emphasis to her words. "Miss Arthur has been to
America and back seven times and to Australia once," she said
conclusively.
"As globe-trotter, or as commercial traveller?"
"Neither. As professional chaperon. When she applied for me, she stated--"
The girl caught her breath and stopped short.
"Well?" he asked encouragingly. She shook her head. Again, for an
instant, Weldon could see the humanity beneath the veneering.
Moreover, he liked what he saw. The blue eyes were honest and
steady. One mocking dimple belied the gravity of the firm lips.
"What did she state?" he asked again.
"It's not manners to tell tales about one's companion," she demurred.
"Not if you spell it with a little c. With a capital, it becomes
professional, and you can say what you choose. Miss Arthur is
a righteous lady; nevertheless, she is a bit professional.
And you were saying that the lady stated--"
"That she never had been seasick in her life."
"Oh. And did she also produce certificates as to her moral
character? Or is fibbing merely bad form nowadays?"
With swift inconsequence, the girl shifted to the other side of the
discussion.
"Of course, this may be a first attack."
"Of course," Weldon assented gravely. But again she shifted her
ground. "Only," she continued, with her eyes thoughtfully fixed on
the distant, impersonal point where sea and sky met; "only it is a
little strange that, yesterday, I heard her tell the stewardess she
never took beeftea when she was seasick."
"Oh." Weldon's eyes joined hers on the sky-line. "I have heard of
similar cases before."
"She offered to come on deck," Ethel went on quietly. "It was
generous of her, for she knew I was left entirely alone.
Nevertheless, I persuaded her that she was better off in her berth."
Leaning back in the chair of the absent invalid, Weldon watched his
companion out of the corners of his eyes and rejoiced at the change
in her. Even while he rejoiced, he marvelled. A Canadian by birth
and education, he had rarely come in contact with English girls. At
first, he had been totally at a loss to account for the haughty
chill in the manner of this one. Grown accustomed to that, he was
still more at a loss to account for this sudden awakening into
humanity. He had as yet to learn that two days of having her only
companion seasick, coupled with a sparkling sun and a crisp breeze,
can rouse even a duenna-led English girl to the point of expressing
her opinions pithily and with vigor.
As the Dunottar Castle had slid away from Southampton, three days
before, Weldon had tramped briskly up and down the crowded deck,
taking mental note of his companions for the next two weeks. Among
the caped and capped throng leaning over the rail and staring after
the receding shore with homesick eyes, he saw little to interest
him. Neither did the shore interest him in the least. His own
partings had come, two weeks before, when the steam yacht had put
back from Sandy Hook. Now, accordingly, he went in search of the
dining-room steward to whom he gave much gold and instruction. Then
he betook himself to his stateroom where his mates were already busy
settling their belongings.
The luncheon hour disclosed the fact that the dining-room steward
had earned his money and had digested his instruction. A short pause
on the threshold informed Weldon that the Dunottar Castle held
exactly one pretty girl; the steward informed Weldon that the vacant
chair beside her was his own. Weldon picked up his napkin with a
brief prayer of thanksgiving. What if he was going out to Africa in
search of Boers and glory? There was no especial reason he should
not enjoy himself on the way.
Weldon had gained a wide experience of American girls, well-bred,
well-chaperoned, nevertheless they offered possible points of
contact to the strangers with whom they were thrown. To all seeming,
Ethel Dent was as accessible as the outer wall of an ice palace.
Beside her decorous ignoring of his existence, Miss Arthur, lean and
spectacled and sniffy, appeared to be of maternal kindliness, albeit
her only advances had been a muffled request for the salt. The next
morning, Miss Arthur's chair had been empty, and her charge, left to
herself, had been more glacially circumspect than ever. Whatever
skittish traits the pair might develop, Weldon felt assured that
they would be solely upon the side of Miss Ophelia Arthur.
Now, however, he was giving himself praise for his own astute
generalship. It was no slight matter, at the end of the third day,
to find himself sitting next to Miss Dent in the line of steamer
chairs and even bending over to pick up the novel she had dropped.
In his elation, Weldon neglected to give credit to Miss Arthur whose
digestive woes were the cause of the whole situation. Only the riper
Christianity which comes with declining years can make one wholly
loyal to a seasick comrade.
He gave himself yet more praise, next morning at sunrise, when he
found himself pacing the deck at Ethel Dent's side. As a rule, he
and his mates rose betimes and, clad in slippers and pajamas, raced
up and down the decks to keep their muscles in hard order, before
descending for the tubbing which is the matin duty of every
self-respecting British subject. This morning, instead of the deserted
decks and the pajama-clad athletes, the passengers were out early to
catch the first glimpse of Madeira, and Weldon, starchy and glowing
with much cold water, was on deck to catch the first glimpse of
Ethel.
Miss Arthur was still invisible, and the girl was discreetly late
about appearing. The deck was full, when at last she came in sight;
and it seemed, to her first glance, that she was the only unattended
person abroad, that morning. Her chin rose a little aggressively as
she moved forward. Then her eyes lighted. Cap in hand, Weldon stood
in her direct path.
"Good morning," he said. "We've just passed the lighthouse and are
nearly opposite Canical. If you come over here, you can see it."
His tone was matter-of-course, yet masterful. At the very beginning
of her fourth solitary day, Ethel admitted to herself that it was
good to have some one take possession of her in this summary
fashion.
"Is Miss Arthur still unhappy?" he asked, as he swung into step at
her side.
"Yes. She has taken to her hymnal, this morning, in search of
consolation. I tried to coax her to get up and go ashore; but she
said there was no use in experiencing the same woe twice."
"I am afraid I do not quite catch the lady's line of argument,"
Weldon remarked doubtfully.
The girl laughed. Then she decorously checked her laugh and
endeavored to turn sympathetic once more.
"She means to make one prolonged illness. Else she will only recover
in order to fall ill again." "Oh." Weldon's tone was still blank.
"And shall you go ashore?"
She shook her head.
"I am sorry. You would find any amount to see."
"I am sorry, too," she said frankly. "Still, I don't see how I can,
without Miss Arthur."
His hands in his pockets, Weldon took a dozen steps in doubtful
silence.
"I'll tell you what we can do, Miss Dent: Harry Carew, one of the
fellows going out with me, had a note of introduction to Colonel
Scott and his wife. He is the pompous old Englishman across the
table. I'll get Carew to introduce us, and perhaps they will let us
go ashore with them."
"But are they going?" she asked irresolutely.
"Surely. We have three hours here. I know Carew's mother well; she
and Mrs. Scott were schoolmates at Madame Prather's in London."
She looked up with sudden interest.
"Madame Prather's? That is where I have been, for the past five
years."
"Then we are all right," Weldon said coolly. "The arrangement is
made. Carew is the only missing link. Excuse me, and I will go in
search of him."
It was high noon when the Dunottar Castle finally weighed anchor at
Funchal and started on her long, unbroken voyage to the southward.
Side by side in the stern, Weldon and Ethel looked back at the blue
harbor dotted with the myriad little boats, at the quaint town
backed with its amphitheatre of sunlit hills and, poised on the
summit, the church where Nossa Senhora do Monte keeps watch and ward
over the town beneath. Ethel's experience was the broader for her
hilarious ride in a bullock-drawn palanquin. Weldon's experience was
more instructive. It taught him that, her hat awry and her yellow
hair loosened about her laughing face, Ethel Dent was tenfold more
attractive than when she made her usual decorous entrance to the
dining-room.
Mrs. Scott had been a willing chaperon and an efficient one.
Nevertheless, as they stood together in the stern, looking out
across the gold-flecked sea, Weldon felt that he had made a long
stride, that morning, towards acquaintance with his companion. And,
even now, the voyage was nearly all before them.
As if in answer to his thoughts, she lifted her eyes to his face.
"Twelve more days!" she said slowly.
"Are you sorry?"
She shook her head.
"Glad and sorry both. I love the sea; but home is at the end of it."
"You live out there?" he asked.
She smiled at the question. "Yes, if out there means Cape Town. At
least, my parents live there."
"How long have you been in England?" he queried, while, abandoning
all pretence of interest in the fast-vanishing town, he turned his
back to the rail in order to face his companion more directly.
"Always, except for one year, six years ago, and a summer--summer in
England, I mean--two years later."
Rather inconsequently, Weldon attacked the side issue suggested by
her words.
"How does it seem to have one's seasons standing on their heads?"