Part 23 (1/2)

”Ah! I'm so glad. I was afraid you'd be shocked. And you will help?

He needs a man friend--a strong man--who will be kind, and not judge.

And you can be with him more, do so much more than I.”

”I'm afraid he is very ill.”

The tone, like the words, seemed lacking in fervour. Katrine had spoken with so intimate an appeal for help that she could not resist a momentary chill. She sat silent, wondering if she had been too quick to claim the privileges of friends.h.i.+p, recalling for her own comfort Jim Blair's words: ”A curt, shy manner.” That was the explanation! Only manner. The deep, smiling glance had already pledged help. She might be satisfied of its fulfilment.

After dinner Bedford joined her on deck. The vessel was steaming its slow course through the ca.n.a.l, and Katrine leaned over the rail gazing at the monotonous banks, listening to her companion's explanatory conversation with difficult attention. She was so much more interested in himself than in geographical facts; she wanted to talk of himself, his health, of his winter's experiences!

”Six miles an hour... Even if we put on full steam we could go no faster, for the bed is so narrow that if the screw revolves too rapidly, it merely draws the water backwards. Extra depth would be even more valuable than extra width. Years ago I was on board the _Ophir_, and we entered the ca.n.a.l to find a German vessel run aground. For five days we were stuck there until sixty-three vessels were waiting to get through.”

”Sixty-three!” Katrine was startled out of her indifference. ”For five days! What did you do?”

”Fifty-five of the boats flew the English flag. Their pa.s.sengers amused themselves playing cricket and polo in the desert. The others--swore!”

”But--” Katrine looked blank, ”it might have been dreadful! Suppose there had been a war! What would they have done then?”

Captain Bedford smiled, but with a slight curl of the lip.

”Played cricket still, and--muddled through! When do we do anything else! In 1882, when Arabi was upsetting things in Egypt we sent a string of gunboats and transports along the ca.n.a.l and one ran aground.

If she had lain in the middle of the channel instead of at the side-- well! Wolseley's plans might not have come off. As it was, she lay near enough to the bank to allow the others to be towed past with ropes.”

”Really? Yes. How interesting!” murmured Katrine vaguely. In the pause which followed she was conscious of a sound like that of a suppressed laugh, and turning round beheld her companion's eyes twinkling with an amus.e.m.e.nt so infectious that she laughed in sympathy.

”Well, but I'm _not_ interested!” she confessed boldly. ”There is so much else... Now that we have pa.s.sed Port Said, I feel quite near to India, and there are so many personal things that I am longing to ask.-- It is months since you have seen them all, but for me it has been years.

Five years since Dorothea sailed, and she is my nearest friend. You know her intimately, of course. And Jack! Shall I find them changed?”

”In outward appearance? Yes! India ages; but they are the sort that keep young at heart. Jack wears well; growing a trifle grey perhaps; she is too thin, and the boy is like her,--all spirit, too little flesh.

Amusing little rascal!”

”Yes.” Katrine resumed her former position, arms resting on the rail, head turned aside. The Lake of Menzaleh stretched to the western horizon, its surface dotted with fis.h.i.+ng boats, and covered with vast flocks of pelicans, flamingoes, and duck, which, unlike the fishermen, had caught all the fish they desired, and were now settling for the night. There was a strangeness, an unreality about the scene, which gave it the substance of a dream.

”And--Captain Blair?” Katrine queried softly.

It was an effort to introduce the name, but she was determined to do so; nay, more, a mysterious impulse seemed to urge her to intimate something of the true position, to let this man realise that she and Jim Blair were more to each other than mere hearsay acquaintances. She stared before her, her profile pale in the waning light. ”I have never seen him, but, through Dorothea, we know each other quite well. He has written to me,--been so kind--sent me bra.s.ses--”

”Yes.”

”So, of course, I am interested! Is he nice?”

Captain Bedford smiled.

”Nice! What composes a woman's idea of 'nice'? Honestly, it is not exactly the word I should have chosen as a description!”

She turned her head, alert and startled.

”You don't like him?”