Ferdie had been two weeks at Romney.
Halcyon days they had seemed, each one beautiful from morning to night,
with blue skies and golden sunshine; blossoms covered the trees, the air
was full of perfume. Ferdie must always be doing something; besides the
hunting and fishing, he had made a new swing, a new dock; he had taught
the negroes base-ball; he had rowed and sailed hither and thither--up
the river, out to sea, and north and south along the sounds, paying
visits at the various islands when Cicely desired them. Every one was
delighted with him, from Miss Sabrina down to the smallest darky; the
captains of the Inland Route steamers grew accustomed to seeing him on
the dock at Jupiter Light; the store-keeper on the mainland opposite
looked out every morning for his sail coming across the Sound. Cicely,
in the same state of mute bliss, accompanied him everywhere; Miss
Sabrina went whenever the excursion was not too long. The negroes
followed him about in a troop; of their own accord they gave him the
title of "young marse."
Through these days Eve felt herself an alien; Cicely said nothing to her
save when she was with the others; she never came to her in her own
room. And Eve could not feel that this neglect was caused by dislike; it
was simply the egotism of perfect happiness. When Eve was present,
Cicely talked to her; when she was not present, Cicely hardly remembered
her existence. Miss Sabrina was not quite so forgetful, but she too was
absorbed; Eve sometimes sat all the evening without speaking;
fortunately she could make her stay short, under the pretext of not
disturbing Jack by coming in late. She was not a timid woman, not a
woman easily disheartened; each long, solitary day (for she seldom
accompanied them), each silent evening, only strengthened her purpose of
carrying away the child. She kept him with her constantly; Cicely
allowed it, and Ferdie, after one or two good-natured attempts to carry
off the little boy for a romp, left him undisturbed to his aunt. Whether
Cicely had told him to do this, Eve did not know.
Strangely enough, Ferdie talked to her more than the others did. Several
times, seeing her in the grove with Jack, he had come out to join her.
And always, as he approached, Eve would make some excuse, and send the
child farther away; this action on her part was involuntary. One morning
she had gone to the beach. She had been there half an hour when she saw
his figure emerging from the bush-bordered road. "Take Jack away," she
said quickly to Dilsey.
Dilsey, vexed at being ordered off when handsome "young marse" was
approaching, took her charge round a point entirely out of sight, so
that Eve and Ferdie were alone. The child gone, Eve could turn all her
attention to the man by her side; her watching mood came upon her, the
mood in which she spent her evenings. Ferdie had thrown himself down on
the sand; handsome as he was, Eve had discovered faults in his face; the
features were in danger of becoming too sharp; a little more, and the
cheeks would be thin. The mouth had a flattening at the corners, a
partly unconscious, partly voluntary action of the muscles, like that
which accompanies a "dare" (so Eve described it to herself) on the part
of a boy who has come off conqueror in one fight, but who is expecting
another and severer one in a moment. This expression (it was visible
when he was silent) and a look in his eyes sometimes--these two things
seemed to Eve signs of the curse. They were slight signs, however; they
would not have been discovered by one woman in a thousand; for Ferdie
was not only handsome, there was also something charming about him. But
Eve had small admiration for the charming.
To-day, as Ferdie lounged beside her, she determined to try an
experiment.
"I am very anxious to have Jack," she began.
"It seems to me that you do have him; it's a complete possession,"
answered Ferdie, laughing; "I've scarcely been able to touch the
youngster since I came."
"I mean that I want him to live with me, as though he were my own child;
I would bring him up with all possible care."
"Have you made a vow, then, never to marry?" Ferdie demanded, looking at
her with a merry gleam in his eyes.
"Should you object--if Cicely were willing to give him to me?" Eve
continued, a slight haughtiness in her manner alone replying to his
remark.
"I suppose I couldn't, though I'm fond of the little chap." ("Fond!" Eve
thought. She looked at him, with parted lips, in suspense.) "But I can't
imagine Cicely's consenting," Ferdie went on; "she is devoted to the
child."
"Not so much as she is to you."
"Do you want _me_ to urge her to give him to you?"
"Yes," Eve answered.
"Why do you want him? For your own pleasure?"