Mr. Veath's abrupt announcement that he was bound for Manila was a decided shock to Grace, Hugh escaping because of his intuitive revelation. After the revenue man had gone below to lie down awhile before luncheon the elopers indulged in an animated discussion of affairs under new conditions.
"Well, we can make use of him after we get there, dear," said Hugh philosophically. "He can be a witness and swear to your age when I go for the license."
"But, Hugh, he thinks we are brother and sister, and we cannot tell him anything to the contrary. It would be awfully embarrassing to try to explain."
"That's so," mused he. "I doubt whether we could make him believe that brothers and sisters marry in Manila. There's just one thing to do."
"It seems to me there are a great many things to do that we didn't consider when we started," ventured she.
"We must let him believe we are brother and sister until after we are married. Then we'll have the laugh on him. I know it's not very pleasant to explain your own joke, or to tell the other fellow when to laugh, but it seems to be the only way. We can't escape him, you know. He is to be at his post by the twentieth of May."
"After all, I think we ought to be nice to him. We can't put him off the boat and we might just as well be friendly. How would you enjoy travelling to Manila all alone? Just put yourself in his place."
"Maybe he thinks he's lucky to be travelling alone."
"That's very pretty, sir. Would you rather be travelling alone?"
"Not at all. I'm only saying what he may think. The poor devil may be married, you know."
"Oh, do you really think so?" cried she.
"He looks a little subdued."
"That's because he's seasick."
"But, to return to our own troubles--you think, then, we would better adopt Mr. Veath for the voyage and break the news to him impressively after the deed is done?"
"I think so, don't you? It is sure to be embarrassing, any way you put it, isn't it?" she asked, laughing nervously.
"Oh, I don't know," he replied airily. "People of our nerve should not be embarrassed by anything on earth." He arose and assisted her to her feet. Then, slipping his arm through hers, he started for the companionway. "The prospect of being brother and sister for ten thousand miles is rather obnoxious to me," he went on. She looked at him in surprise and then blushed faintly. As they descended the steps, he put his arm around her shoulder. At the bottom he stopped and glanced around apprehensively, something like alarm appearing in his face. His arm slipped from her shoulder to her waist and contracted suddenly.
"What is the matter, Hugh?" she whispered, looking quickly about as if expecting a calamity.
"Is any one in sight?" he demanded anxiously.
"I don't see a soul," she answered.
"Then I'm going to give up the brother act for a moment or two. This is a good, sequestered spot, and I'm going to kiss you." And he did so more than once. "That's the first chance I've had to kiss you since we came aboard. What an outrage it is that brothers cannot be more attentive to their own sisters than to other men's sisters."
"It seems to be customary for brothers to neglect their sisters," she suggested demurely.
"A brother who neglects his sister ought to be horsewhipped," declared he.
"Amen to that. They use the cat-o'-nine-tails on board ship, you must remember," she said, smiling.
Shortly afterward he dropped in to see Veath and was welcomed gladly. He was lying in his berth, and Hugh sent for a bottle of his champagne. Two glasses of the wine put new life into him and something of a sparkle flew to his dull eyes, as if cast there by the bubbling liquor. His tongue loosened a little, Hugh finding him to be a bright, sensible fellow, somewhat ignorant of the ways of the world, but entirely capable of taking care of himself. Moreover, with the renewed vigor displaying itself, he was far better looking than his new acquaintance had thought. His blue eyes, keen and clear, appealed to Hugh's love for straightforwardness; his wide mouth bespoke firmness, good nature, and the full ability to enjoy the humorous side of things. The lines about his clean-cut, beardless face were a trifle deep, and there was a network of those tiny wrinkles which belong to men of forty-five and not to those of twenty-eight.
Evidently his had not been a life of leisure. As he lounged easily upon the edge of the berth, Hugh could not but admire his long, straight figure, the broad shoulders and the pale face with its tense earnestness.
"Manila, you know, is an important post these days," said Veath. "There's a lot of work to be done there in the next few years. I'm from Indiana. Every able-bodied man in our district who voted right and hasn't anything else to do wants a government job. Of course, most of them want to be consul-generals, postmasters, or heads of bureaus, but there are some of us who will take the best thing that is offered. That's why I am going to Manila. Politics, you know, and my uncle's influence with the administration." Ridgeway observed that wine made loquacious a man who was naturally conservative. "Where are you going?" he continued.
"We are going to Manila."
"What!" gasped Veath. "You don't mean it!"
"Certainly. Why not?" and Hugh smiled delightedly over the sensation he had created.
"Why--why, it seems improbable," stammered Veath. "I had looked upon Manila as the most wretched hole in the world, and yet I find you going there, evidently from choice."
"Well, you'll have to change your opinion now," said Hugh.
"I do--forthwith. It cannot be such a bad place or you wouldn't be taking your sister there. May I ask what is your object in going to Manila?"
Hugh turned red in the face and stooped over to flick an imaginary particle of dust from his trousers' leg. There was but one object in their going and he had not dreamed of being asked what it was. He could not be employed forever in brushing away that speck, and yet he could not, to save his life, construct an answer to Veath's question. In the midst of his despair a sudden resolution came, and he looked up, his lips twitching with suppressed laughter.
"We are going as missionaries."
He almost laughed aloud at the expression on Veath's face. It revealed the utmost dismay. There was a moment's silence, and then the man in the berth said slowly:
"Is Miss Ridge a--a missionary also?"
"The very worst kind," replied Hugh cheerily.
"Going out among the natives, I suppose?"
"What natives?"
"Why,--the Igorrotes, or whatever they are, of course."
"Oh, of course--to be sure," cried Hugh hastily. "I am so d--d absent-minded."
Veath stared in amazement.
"You must not think it strange that I swear," said Hugh, mopping his brow. "I am not the missionary, you know."
"Oh," was the other's simple exclamation. Another pause and then, "You don't mean to say that such a beautiful woman is going to waste her life among savages?"
"She's got her head set on it and we think the only way to break her of it is to give her a sample of the work. I am going with her ostensibly to protect, but really to make her life miserable."
"I rather admire her devotion to the church," said Veath, still a trifle dazed.
"She's a great crank on religion," admitted Hugh. Then he could feel himself turn pale. He was passing Grace off as a missionary, and thereby placing her under restrictions that never before had entered into her gay life. Veath would treat her as if she were of fragile glass and it would not be long until the whole boat would be staring at the beautiful girl who was going to the heathen. Remorse struck him and he tried to flounder out of the position.
Grace Vernon
"I should not have said that about her views. You would never take her to be an ardent church-member, and she is particularly averse to being called a missionary. The truth about the matter is that very few people home know about this move of hers and there is no one on ship who even suspects. She would not have had me tell it for the world."
"My dear Mr. Ridge, don't let that trouble you. She shall never know that you have told me and I shall never repeat it. Please rest assured; her wishes in the matter are most certainly to be considered sacred," cried Veath warmly.
"Thanks, old man," said Hugh, very much relieved. "Your hand on that. I am not sorry I told you, for I'm sure you will be careful. She objects to the--the--well, the notoriety of the thing, you know. Hates to be glared at, questioned, and all that sort of thing."
"She is very sensible in that respect. I have but little use for the people who parade their godliness."
"That's just the way she looks at it. She would be uncomfortable all the way over if she thought that a single person knew of her intentions. Funny girl that way."
"If I were you, I don't believe I'd tell any one else," said Veath hesitatingly.
"That's all right, Veath. Depend upon me, I'll not breathe it to another soul. It shall not go a bit farther. Grace wants to go about the good work as quietly as possible. Still, I am bound to make her forget the heathen and return to America another woman altogether." Mr. Veath, of course, did not understand the strange smile that flitted over his companion's face as he uttered the last remark. "I'm glad I met you, Veath; we'll get along famously, I'm sure. There's no reason why we shouldn't make the voyage a jolly one. I think we'd better get ready for luncheon," said Hugh, looking at his watch.
Hugh took his departure, and fifteen minutes later was seated at one of the tables in the dining-room with Grace beside him. He had told her of the missionary story and was trying to smile before her display of genuine annoyance.
"But I don't want him to treat me as if I were a missionary," she pouted. "What fun can a missionary have?"
"Oho, you want to have fun with him, eh? That's the way the wind blows, is it? I'll just tell Mr. Veath that you pray night and day, and that you don't like to be disturbed. What do you suppose he'd be if he interrupted a woman's prayers?" demanded he, glaring at her half jealously.
"He'd be a heathen and I should have to enlighten him," she answered sweetly.
Just then Mr. Veath entered the saloon and took a seat beside her. She looked surprised, as did Mr. Ridgeway. They looked to the far end of the table and saw that Veath's original chair was occupied by another man.
"I traded seats with that fellow," murmured Veath, a trifle red about the ears. Miss Vernon's face assumed a stony expression for an instant, but the gleam of pure frankness in his eyes dispelled her momentary disapproval. "You don't mind, do you?" he asked hastily.
"Not at all, Mr. Veath," she said, forgetting that a moment before she had considered him presumptuous. "On the contrary, I think it is so much nicer to have you on this side of the table. We can talk without having everybody in the room hear us."
"I have just heard that we are bound for the same destination and we can certainly speculate among ourselves as to the outcome of our individual and collective pilgrimages. We can talk about shipwrecks, pirates, simoons, cholera, sea serpents--"
"And the heathen," said Hugh maliciously, but not looking up from his plate.
"Ahem!" coughed loyal Mr. Veath.
"Are there any heathen over there?" asked Miss Vernon very innocently but also very maliciously. She smiled at Hugh, who leaned far back in his chair and winked solemnly at the bewildered Veath. That gentleman, manlike, interpreted Hugh's wink as the means of conveying the information that the tactful young lady asked the question merely to throw him off the scent. So he answered very politely but very carefully.
"I hear there are more missionaries than heathen."
"Indeed? Don't you think that the women who go out as missionaries among those vile creatures are perfect idiots, Mr. Veath?"
"Well,--ahem, ah," stammered Veath, "I can't say that I do. I think, if you will permit me to disagree with you, that they are the noblest women in the world."
"Excellent sentiment, Veath," said the merry Ridgeway, "and quite worthy of endorsement by this misguided sister of mine. She despises the heathen, you know."
"Oh, I am sure she does not despise them," cried Veath.
"But I do--I think they ought to be burned alive!"
A dead silence, during which the two men were unnecessarily intent upon the contents of their plates, followed this explosion. Miss Vernon demurely smiled to herself, and finally kicked Hugh's foot. He laughed aloud suddenly and insanely and then choked. Veath grew very red in the face, perhaps through restraint. The conversation from that moment was strained until the close of the meal, and they did not meet at all during dinner.
"Perhaps we have offended him," said Grace as they strolled along the deck that evening.
"It's probable that he thinks we are blamed fools and does not care to waste his time on us."
"Then why did he change his seat?"
"Evidently did not want us to be staring him out of countenance all the time. I notice, sister, that he took the seat next to yours and not to mine," remarked he insinuatingly.
"Which proves thatheis no fool, brother," she retorted.
Gibraltar. And the ship stopping only long enough to receive the mail and take on passengers; then off again.
During the voyage in the Bay of Biscay, Veath had done all in his power to relieve Hugh of the boredom which is supposed to fall upon the man who has a sister clinging to him. At first Hugh rather enjoyed the situation, but as Veath's amiable sacrifice became more intense, he grew correspondingly uncomfortable. It was not precisely what he had bargained for. There was nothing in Veath's manner which could have been objectionable to the most exacting of brothers.
When he was trespassing Hugh hated him, but when they were together, with Grace absent, he could not but admire the sunny-faced, frank, stalwart Indianian. When Hugh's heart was sorest, a slap on the back from Veath, a cheery word and an unspoken pledge of friendship brought shame to take the place of resentment.
She was troubled, as well as he, by the turn of affairs; her distress managed to keep her awake of nights, especially when she began to realize there was no escape from consequences. That usually pleasant word "brother" became unbearable to her; she began to despise it. To him, the word "sister" was the foundation for unpublishable impressions.
Poor Veath knew nothing of all this and continued to "show Miss Ridge a good time." On the second night out of Gibraltar, he and Grace were strolling the deck. He was happy, she in deep despair. Down at the other end of the deck-house, leaning over the rail, smoking viciously, was Hugh, alone, angry, sulky. It was a beautiful night, cool and crisp, calm and soft. A rich full moon threw its glorious shimmer across the waves, flashing a million silvery blades along the watery pavement that seemed to lead to the end of the world. Scores of passengers were walking the deck, and all were happy, save two.
For two days Hugh had found but little chance to speak with Grace. She had plotted and calculated and so had he, but Veath gallantly upset the plans.
"This can't go on any longer, or I'll go back," vowed Hugh as he glared with gloomy eyes at the innocent path of silver.
"Your brother is not very sociable of late, is he, Miss Ridge?" asked Veath, as they turned once more up the deck toward the disconsolate relative. "There are a great many pretty young women on board, but he seems to ignore them completely. I haven't seen him speak to a woman in two days."
"Perhaps he is in love," she murmured half sedately. Poor, lonely Hugh! How she longed to steal up from behind and throw her arms about his neck. Even though both fell overboard, it would be a pleasure, it seemed to her.
"We ought to go over and jolly him up a bit," suggested Veath, innocently magnanimous. She hated him at that moment.
"He is probably enjoying himself better than if we were with him," she said rather coldly.
"Lovers usually like moonshine," he said.
"I did not say he was in love; 'perhaps' was the word, I think," said Grace.
"I believe one of the rules of love is that a brother never confides in his sister. At any rate, she is sure to be among the last."
"I think Hugh would tellmeof his love affairs," she answered, a merry sparkle coming into her eyes. "He thinks a great deal of my opinions."
"And I suppose you tell him of your love affairs," he said jestingly. She blushed furiously.
"He has a whole book full of my confidences," she finally said, seeking safety in exaggeration.
"Quite an interesting volume. How does it end? With an elopement?"
"Elopement! What do you--oh, ah, I--ha, ha! Wouldn't that be a jolly way to end it?" She laughed hysterically, recovering quickly from the effects of the startling, though careless question. For a few moments her heart throbbed violently.
Hugh came swinging toward them, his cigar tilted upward at an unusual angle because of the savage position of the lower jaw. His hands were jammed into his pockets and his cap was drawn well down over his eyes. He was passing without a word, ignoring them more completely than if they had been total strangers. He would, at least, have glanced at strangers.
"Hello, Mr. Ridge, going below?" called Veath.
"I'm going wherever the ship goes," came the sullen reply.
"Hopeshe'snot going below," laughed the disturber.
"It's my only hope," was the bitter retort from the companionway.
"He's certainly in love, Miss Ridge. Men don't have the blues like that unless there's a woman in the case. I think you'd better talk to your brother. Tell him she'll be true, and if she isn't, convince him that there are just as good fish in the sea. Poor fellow, I suppose he thinks she's the only woman on earth," commented Mr. Veath, with mock solemnity.
"She may be as much at sea as he," she said,--and very truthfully.
"Well, if love dies, there is a consolation in knowing that the sea casts up its dead," was his sage, though ill-timed remark.
Grace slept but little that night, and went early to breakfast in the hope that she might see Hugh alone. But he came in late, haggard and pale, living evidence of a sleepless night. Veath was with him and her heart sank. During the meal the good-natured Indianian did most of the talking, being driven at last, by the strange reticence of his companions, to the narration of a series of personal experiences. Struggle as he would, he could not bring a mirthful laugh from the girl beside him, nor from the sour visaged man beyond. They laughed, of course, but it was the laugh of politeness.
"I wonder if she is in love, too," shot through his mind, and a thrill of regret grew out of the possibility. Once his eye caught her in the act of pressing Hugh's hand as it was being withdrawn from sight. With a knowing smile he bent close to her and whispered: "That's right, cheer him up!" Grace admitted afterward that nothing had ever made her quite so furious as that friendly expression.
But jealousy is jealousy. It will not down. The next three days were miserable ones for Hugh. The green-eyed monster again cast the cloak of moroseness over him--swathed him in the inevitable wet blanket, as it were. During the first two days Veath had performed a hundred little acts of gallantry which fall to the lot of a lover but hardly to that of a brother--a score of things that would not have been observed by the latter, but which were inwardly cursed by the lover. Hugh began to have the unreasonable fear that she cared more for Veath's society than she did for his. He was in ugly humor at lunch time and sent a rather peremptory message to Grace's room, telling her that he was hungry and asking her to get ready at once. The steward brought back word that she was not in her room. She had been out since ten o'clock.
Without a word Ridgeway bolted to Veath's room and knocked at the door. There was no response. The steward, quite a distance down the passageway, heard the American gentleman swear distinctly and impressively.
He ate his luncheon alone,--disconsolate, furious, miserable. Afterward he sought recreation and finally went to his room, where he tried to read. Even that was impossible.
Some time later he heard her voice, then Veath's.
"I wonder if Hugh is in his room?" she was asking.
"He probably thinks we've taken a boat and eloped Shall I rap and see?" came in Veath's free voice.
"Please--and we'll tell him where we have been."
"You will like thunder!" hissed Hugh to himself, glaring at the door as if he could demolish it.
Then came a vigorous pounding on the panel; but he made no move to respond. Again the knocking and a smile, not of mirth, overspread his face.
"Knock! Confound you! You can't get in!" he growled softly but triumphantly. Veath tried the knob, but the door was locked.
"He's not in, Miss Ridge. I'll see if I can find him. Good-by--see you at luncheon."
Then came Grace's voice, sweet and untroubled: "Tell him we'll go over the ship another time withhim."
"Over the ship," growled Hugh almost loud enough to be heard. "So they're going to square it by taking brother with them another time--eh? Well, not if I know it! I'll show her what's what!" A minute later he rapped at Miss Vernon's stateroom. She was removing her hat before the mirror, and turning quickly as the irate Hugh entered, she cried:
"Hello, Hugh! Where have you been, dear?"
"Dear! Don't call me dear," he rasped.
"Why, Hugh, dear,--Mr. Veath looked everywhere for you this morning. I said I would not go unless he could find you. You would have enjoyed it so much."
"And you really wanted me?" he asked guiltily.
"Of course, I did--we both did. Won't you ever understand that I love you--and you alone?"
"I guess I'll never understand love at all," he mused.
"Now where were you all morning?" she demanded.
"He didn't look in the right place, that's all."
"Where was the right place?"
"It happened to be in the wrong place," he said. He had been playing a social game of bridge in the room of one of the passengers. At this moment Veath was heard at the door. Hugh heartily called out to him, bidding him to enter.
"Why, here you are! Been looking everywhere for you, old man. Sorry you were not along this morning," said the newcomer, shaking Ridgeway's hand.
"I didn't care to see the ship," said Hugh hastily.
"Why, how funny!" cried Grace. "How did you know we had been over the ship?"
"Instinct," he managed to gulp in the confusion.
Veath started for the dining-room, followed by Grace and Hugh, the latter refraining from mentioning that he had already lunched--insufficiently though it had been; but with the return of reason had come back his appetite and gradually he felt the old happiness sifting into his heart.
They were now well along in the Mediterranean. The air was cool and crisp, yet there were dozens of people on deck watching the sunset and the sailors who were trimming the ship. There were passengers on board for China, Japan, India and Australia. A half hundred soldiers, returning to the East, after a long furlough at home, made the ship lively. They were under loose discipline and were inclined to be hilarious. A number were forward now, singing the battle songs of the British and the weird ones of the natives. Quite a crowd had collected to listen, including Ridgeway and Veath, who were strolling along the deck, arm in arm, enjoying an after-dinner smoke, and had paused in their walk near the group, enjoying the robust, devil-may-care tones of the gallant subalterns.
Miss Vernon was in her stateroom trying to jot down in a newly opened diary the events of the past ten days. She was up to ears in the work, and was almost overcome by its enthusiasm. It was to be a surprise for Hugh at some distant day, when she could have it printed and bound for him alone. There was to be but one copy printed, positively, and it was to belong to Hugh. Her lover as he strode the deck was unconscious of the task unto which she had bent her energy. He knew nothing of the unheard-of intricacies in punctuation, spelling and phraseology. She was forced at one time to write Med and a dash, declaring, in chagrin, that she would add the remainder of the word when she could get to a place where a dictionary might tell her whether it was spelled Mediterranean or Mediteranian.
Suddenly, Hugh pressed Veath's arm a little closer.
"Look over there near the rail. There's the prettiest girl I've ever seen!"
"Where?"
"Can't point, because she's looking this way. Girl with a dark green coat, leaning on an old gentleman's arm--"
"I see," interrupted Veath. "By George! she's pretty!"
"No name for it! Have you in your life ever seen anything so beautiful?" cried Ridgeway. He stared at her so intently that she averted her face. "Wonder who she can be? The old man must be her father. Strange we haven't seen them before. I'm sure that she hasn't been on deck."
"You seem interested--do you want a flirtation?"
"Oh, Grace wouldn't stand for that--not for a minute."
"I don't believe she would object if you carried it on skilfully," smiled the other.
"It wouldn't be right, no matter how harmless. I couldn't think of being so confoundedly brutal."
"Sisters don't usually take such things to heart."
Hugh came to himself with a start and for a moment or two could find no word of response, so deeply engrossed was he in the effort to remember whether he had said anything that might have betrayed his secret.
"Oh," he laughed awkwardly, "you don't understand me. Grace is so--well, so--conscientious, that if she thought I was--er--trifling, you know, with a girl, she'd--she'd have a fit. Funniest girl you ever saw about those things--perfect paragon."
"Is it possible? Are you not a little strong on that point, old man? I'm afraid you don't know your sister any better than other men know theirs."
"What's that?" demanded Hugh, suddenly alert and forgetful of the stranger.
"The last person on earth that a man gets acquainted with, I've heard, is his sister," said Veath calmly. "Go ahead and have a good time, old fellow; your sister isn't so exacting as you think--take my word for it."
It was fully five minutes before Hugh could extract himself from the slough of speculation into which those thoughtless words had driven him. What did Veath know about her ideas on such matters? Where did he learn so much? The other spoke to him twice and received no answer. Finally he shook his arm and said:
"Must be love at first sight, Ridge. Are you spellbound?" Hugh merely glared at him and he continued imperturbably: "She's pretty beyond a doubt. I'll have to find out who she is."
"That's right, Veath; find out," cried Hugh, bright in an instant. "Make her have a good time. Poor thing, she'll find it pretty dull if she hangs to her father all the time."
"He isn't a very amusing-looking old chap, is he? If that man hasn't the gout and half a dozen other troubles I'll jump overboard."
The couple arousing the interest of the young men stood near the forward end of the deck-house. The young woman's face was beaming with an inspiration awakened by the singers. Her companion, tall, gray and unimpressionable, listened as if through coercion and not for pleasure. His lean face, red with apoplectic hues, grim with the wrinkles of three score years or more, showed clear signs of annoyance. The thin gray moustache was impatiently gnawed, first on one side and then on the other. Then the military streak of gray that bristled forth as an imperial was pushed upward and between the lips by bony fingers. He was a picture of dutiful rebellion, Immaculately dressed was he, and distinguished from the soles of his pointed shoes to the beak of his natty cap. A light colored newmarket of the most fashionable cut was buttoned closely about his thin figure.
The young woman was not tall, nor was she short; she was of that indefinite height known as medium. Her long green coat fitted her snugly and perfectly; a cap of the same material was perched jauntily upon her dark hair. The frolicking wind had torn several strands from beneath the cap, and despite the efforts of her gloved fingers, they whipped and fluttered in tantalizing confusion. In the dimming afternoon the Americans could see that she was exquisitely beautiful. They could see the big dark eyes, almost timid in the hiding places beyond the heavy fringing lashes. Her dark hair threw the rich face into clear relief,--fresh, bright, eager. The men were not close enough to observe with minuteness its features, but its brilliancy was sufficient to excite even marvelling admiration. It was one of those faces at which one could look for ever and still feel there was a charm about it he had not caught.
"I've never seen such a face before," again murmured Ridgeway.
"Tastes differ," said Veath. "Now, if you'll pardon me, I think Miss Ridge is the more beautiful. She is taller and has better style. Besides, I like fair women. What say?" The question was prompted by the muttered oath that came from Hugh.
"Nothing at all," he almost snarled. "Say, Veath, don't always be talking to me about my sister," he finally jerked out, barely able to confine himself to this moderately sensible abjuration while his brain was seething with other and stronger expressions.
"I beg your pardon, Ridge; I did not know that I talked very much about her." There was a brief silence and then he continued: "Have a fresh cigar, old man." Hugh took the cigar ungraciously, ashamed of his petulance.
By this time the early shades of night had begun to settle and the figures along the deck were growing faint in the shadows. Here and there sailors began to light the deck lamps; many of the passengers went below to avoid the coming chill. In her stateroom Grace was just writing: "For over a week we have been sailing under British colors, we good Americans, Hugh and I,--and I may add, Mr. Veath."
Another turn down the promenade and back brought Ridgeway and Veath face to face with the old gentleman and the young lady, who were on the point of starting below. The Americans paused to let them pass, lifting their caps. The old gentleman, now eager and apparently more interested in life and its accompaniments, touched the vizor of his cap in response, and the young lady smiled faintly as she drew her skirts aside and passed before him.
"Did you ever see a smile like that?" cried Hugh, as the couple disappeared from view.
"Thousands," answered his companion. "They're common as women themselves. Any woman has a pretty smile when she wants it."
"You haven't a grain of sentiment, confound you."
"They don't teach sentiment on the farm, and there's where I began this unappreciative existence of mine. But I am able to think a lot sometimes."
"That's about all a fellow has to do on a farm, isn't it?"
"That and die, I believe."
"And get married?"
"Naturally, in order to think more. A man has to think for two after he's married, you see."
"Quite sarcastic that. You don't think much of women, I fancy."
"Not in the plural."
Captain Shadburn was nearing them on the way from the chart-house, and the young men accosted him, Veath inquiring:
"Captain, who is the tall old gentleman you were talking to forward awhile ago?"
"That is Lord Huntingford, going over to straighten out some complications for the Crown. He is a diplomat of the first water."
"Where are these complications, may I ask?"
"Oh, in China, I think. He is hurrying across as fast as possible. He leaves the ship at Hong Kong, and nobody knows just what his mission is; that's between him and the prime minister, of course. But, good-evening, gentlemen. I have a game of cribbage after dinner with his Lordship." The captain hurried below.
"A real live lord," said Veath. "The first I've seen."
"China," Hugh repeated. "I hope we may get to know them."
At dinner Hugh was strangely exuberant, jesting gaily and exchanging rare witticisms with Veath, who also appeared immensely satisfied. As they left the saloon he said:
"Let's take a turn on deck, Grace."
"Won't you include me?" asked Veath.
"Certainly," answered Grace promptly.
"Be delighted," echoed Hugh, swallowing as if it were an effort.
"I must get a wrap," said Grace. "I won't delay you more than five minutes."
"I'll get my overcoat and some cigars," added Hugh.
"And I'll write a short letter to post at Malta," said Veath, and they separated.
A short while later, a steward passed Hugh's stateroom, and he called to him to step to the next door and tell Miss Ridge that he was ready.
"Miss Ridge just went up with her gentleman--" the man responded; but Hugh interrupted, slamming the door. For several minutes he stood glaring at the upper corner of his berth; then he said something strong. Every vestige of his exuberance disappeared, his brow clouded and his heart seemed to swell painfully within its narrow confines.
As he was about to ascend the steps of the companionway, he heard the swish of skirts and then a sharp scream. In an instant he was half way up, his arms extended. Lord Huntingford's daughter plunged into them, and he literally carried her to the foot. She was pale and trembling and he was flushed. He had looked up in time to see her falling forward, vainly striving to reach the hand rail.
"Are you hurt?" he asked anxiously. The young lady sat down upon the second step before answering, a delightful pink stealing over her face.
"I--I don't believe I am," she said. "My heel caught on a step and I fell. It was so clumsy of me. I might have been badly hurt if you had not caught me as you did."
"These steps are so uncertain," he said, scowling at them. "Somebody'll get hurt here some day. But, really, are you quite sure you are, not hurt? Didn't you twist your--your--"
"Ankle? Not in the least. See! I can stand on both of them. I am not hurt at all. Let me thank you," she said, smiling into his eyes as she moved away.
"May I assist you?" he asked eagerly.
"Oh, no; I thank you, Mr. Veath. I would not have my preserver perform the office of a crutch. I am not hurt in the least. Good-afternoon."
Hugh, disconcerted and piqued by her confusion of names, answered her wondrous smile with one that reflected bewildered admiration, and finally managed to send after her:
"I wouldn't have lost the opportunity for the world."
That evening he was sitting out on deck in contemplative silence enjoying his after-dinner smoke. Farther down were Grace and Veath. Suddenly turning in their direction, Hugh perceived that they were not there; nor were they anywhere in sight. He was pondering over their whereabouts, his eyes still on the vacant chairs, when a voice tender and musical assailed his ears--a voice which he had heard but once before.
"Good-evening, Mr. Veath."
He wheeled about and found himself staring at the smiling face of the young lady who had fallen into his arms but a few hours before.
"Good-evening," he stammered, amazed by her unexpected greeting. "Have--have you fully recovered from your fall?"
"I was quite over it in a moment or two. I wanted to ask you if you were hurt by the force with which I fell against you." She stood with one hand upon the rail, quite close to him, the moonlight playing upon her upturned face. He never had seen a more perfect picture of airy grace and beauty in his life.
"Why mention an impossibility? You could not have hurt me in a fall ten times as great."
His tall figure straightened and his eyes gleamed chivalrously. The young woman's dark, mysterious eyes swept over him for a second, resting at last upon those which looked admiringly into them from above. She made a movement as if to pass on, gravely smiling a farewell.
"I beg your pardon," he said hastily. "You called me Mr. Veath a moment ago. It may be of no consequence to you, yet I should like to tell you that my name is Ridge--Hugh Ridge."
"It is my place to beg forgiveness. But I understood your name was Veath, and that you were--were"--here she smiled tantalizingly--"in love with the beautiful American, Miss Ridge."
"The dev--dick--I mean, the mischief you did! Well, of all the fool conclusions I've ever heard, that is the worst. In love with my sister! Ho, ho!" He laughed rather too boisterously.
"But there is a Mr. Veath on board, is there not?--a friend?"
"A Mr. Henry Veath going into the American Revenue Service at Manila."
"How stupid of me! However, I am positive that I was told it was Mr. Veath who was in love with Miss Ridge."
"But he isn't," hastily cried Hugh, turning hot and cold by turns. "He's just a friend. She--she is to marry another chap." Here he gulped painfully. "But please don't breathe it to a soul. She'd hate me forever. Can I trust you?" To himself, he was saying: "I am making a devil of a mess of this elopement."
"This is a very large world, Mr. Ridge, and this voyage is a mere trifle in time. When we leave the ship we may be parting forever, so her secret would be safe, even though I shrieked it all over the East. You will return to America before long, I presume?"
"I'm sure I don't know. We may stay a year or no."
"Then the wedding is not a thing of the immediate future?"
"Oh, yes--that is, I mean, certainly not."
"Pardon me for asking so many questions. It is very rude of me." She said it so penitently that Hugh, unable to find words, could only wave his hands in deprecation. "Isn't it a perfect evening?" she went on, turning to the sea. The light breeze blew the straying raven hair away from her temples, leaving the face clearly chiselled out of the night's inkiness. Hugh's heart thumped strangely as he noted her evident intention to remain on deck. She turned to him swiftly and he averted his eyes, but not quickly enough to prevent her seeing that he had been scrutinizing her intently. What she may have intended to say was never uttered. Instead, she observed, a trifle coldly:
"I must bid you good-night, Mr. Ridge."
"Pray, not yet," he cried; "I was just about to ask if we might not sit in these chairs here for a little while. It is early and it is so charming to-night." He looked into her eyes again and found that she was gazing searchingly into his. A light smile broke into life and she seemed to be satisfied with the momentary analysis of the man before her.
"It does seem silly to stay below on a night like this. Shall we sit here?" She indicated two vacant chairs well forward. The young lady scorned a steamer rug, so he sat beside her, conscious that, despite her charming presence, he was beginning to feel the air keenly. But he could not admit it to this slight Englishwoman.
For half an hour or more they sat there, finding conversation easy, strangely interesting to two persons who had nothing whatsoever in common. He was charmed, delighted with this vivacious girl. And yet something mournful seemed to shade the brilliant face now and then. It did not come and go, moreover, for the frank, open beauty was always the same; it was revealed to him only at intervals. Perhaps he saw it in her dark, tender eyes--he could not tell. He saw Henry Veath pacing the deck, smoking and--alone. Hugh's heart swelled gladly and he spoke quite cheerily to Veath as that gentleman sauntered past.
"Now, that is Mr. Veath, isn't it?" demanded his fair companion.
"Yes; do you think we should be mistaken for each other?"
"Oh, dear, no, now that I know you apart. You are utterly unlike, except in height. How broad he is! Hasn't he a wonderful back?" she cried, admiring the tall, straight figure of the walker.
"He got that on the farm."
"It is worth a farm to have shoulders like his, I should say. You must introduce Mr. Veath to me."
Hugh looked at the moon very thoughtfully for a few moments and then, as if remembering, said that he would be happy to do so, and was sure that Veath would be even happier.
At this moment the tall, lank form of Lord Huntingford approached. He was peering intently at the people in the chairs as he passed them, plainly searching for some one.
"There is Lord Huntingford looking for you," said Hugh, rising. He saw a trace of annoyance in her face as she also arose. "I overheard him telling the captain that Lady Huntingford--your mother--plays a miserable game of crib."
She started and turned sharply upon him.
"My mother, Mr. Ridge?" she said slowly.
"Yes; your father was guying Captain Shadburn about his game, you know."
The look of wonder in her eyes increased; she passed her hand across her brow and then through her hair in evident perplexity, all the while staring at his face. There was a tinge of suspicion in her voice when she spoke.
"Mr. Ridge, don't you know?"
"Know what?"
"You surely know that I am not Lord Huntingford's--"
"You don't mean to say that you are not his daughter," gasped Hugh, dubious as to her meaning.
"I am Lady Huntingford."
"His wife?"
"His wife."
Hugh, too dumbfounded to speak, could do no more than doff his cap as she took the arm of the gray lord and softly said to him:
"Good-night, Mr. Ridge."