Part 24 (1/2)
”Why, yes, of course. Who could come to molest us here?”
”Molesters,” he said, ”if anyone. But perhaps they never would.”
He had given no answer to her question, which she hardly cared to repeat. It was one of the times, which frequently came, when she could not prevent herself from wondering if this strong, primal man she had once called a brute could have utterly forgotten the pa.s.sionate declaration made on the steams.h.i.+p ”Inca” the day before the wreck.
She wondered also, had he meant it at the time? Or had one of his many inscrutable moods possessed him, barely for the moment? She had never dared recently confess to herself what feelings might instantly invade her tingling nature should she learn he had only pretended, perhaps on some wager with Gerald, as a test of her faithfulness and love.
It was womanlike, merely, on her part, to desire to know his mind. No woman may long resent being loved by a strong and masterful man. And Elaine was delightfully typical of all her delightful s.e.x.
”Well,” she presently said, ”we've been here now much longer than we ever expected that day when we arrived.”
His gaze, which had been averted, now swung to a meeting with her own.
She had never seemed lovelier, braver, more sweetly disposed than now.
The moonlight deepened her luminous eyes till the man fairly held his breath.
”Elaine,” he said, finally, glancing once more towards the silvered sea, ”what is your notion of love?”
The shock of the word threw all her wits into confusion.
”My notion?” she stammered, helplessly, feeling the hot flames leap like floods of his molten metal to her neck, her face, and her bosom.
”I don't believe--I have--any notions.”
”Your convictions, then?” he amended. ”Or, if you like, your principles?”
”My--my principles of--of all that--are--just about like--everyone else's, I suppose,” she managed to answer, fragmentarily, ”--being honest--and true--and faithful--unto death.”
”To the one that you _really_ love?”
”Why--certainly--of course.” The heat in her face increased, so significant had she felt his words with that low even tone of emphasis.
He stared so long at the sea after that she began to suspect he had not even heard her reply. After a time she was tempted to play, just a trifle, with the fire. She added, ”Why did you ask?”
”Wanted to know.” Once more he fell dumb, and again she waited, afraid he would, and more afraid he would not, continue the delicate topic.
Once again, also, she was tempted.
”And what,” she inquired, ”is your--notion?”
He did not turn. ”Of love or crocodiles?”
”Of--of love--was what you asked me.”
”I believe I did,” he responded. ”Oh, about the same as yours!”
Elaine had received but scanty satisfaction. After another long silence she ventured to say:
”We might have to be here a year--or even longer.”