Part 34 (2/2)
She glanced up the deck with vague uneasiness, disquieted by the unexpected situation. Forty feet away sat the sailing-master's wife still placidly knitting at her pale blue shawl, the perfect portrait of secure propriety. The sight of her there was somehow rea.s.suring.
”So is Mr. Hare, I always believed. But never mind. How fast we are going already!”
”Yes, the _C_--this yacht goes fast.”
”What is considered fast for a yacht? How long would it take us to get to New York?”
”Three hours. Why not go?”
A white-clad steward noiselessly approached with her parasol. She took it and smiled at Varney's idle pleasantry.
”Thank you, I have too many responsibilities this afternoon. First of all, we--have a guest at home. Then I simply must go to Mrs. Thurston's to see about some sewing at five. Last obstacle of all--my mamma! What would she think had happened?”
”Don't you suppose that she would guess?”
”Do you think I'm the daughter of a clairvoyant, Mr. Varney? No, she would not guess. She would simply stand at the front window in a Sister Ann position all the afternoon, crying her pretty, eyes red. But--this is a schooner-something steam-yacht, ninety feet long, I believe you said. What comes after that?”
They had left the town dock behind and were scudding swiftly. There was no longer any reason, even any pretext, for waiting. Every pulse of the _Cypriani's_ machinery was beating into his brain: ”Tell her now! Tell her now!”
But all at once he found it very hard to speak.
”There is time enough for that. There is something that I must tell you first--in fairness to Hare. The fact is that I--I made Peter take him away because I wanted to be alone with you.”
The crude speech plainly embarra.s.sed her; she became suddenly engrossed in examining the carved handle of her parasol, as though never in her life had she seen it before.
Varney turned abruptly from her and looked out at the flying sh.o.r.e.
”Last night,” said he, ”you may remember that you asked me a question.
You asked me why I objected to accepting help from you.”
”Yes, but that was last night,” she interrupted, her instinct instantly warning her away from the topic--”and you didn't tell me, you know!
Really--we must turn around in two minutes, and so I haven't time to talk about a thing but yachts.”
”I fear that you must find time.”
”Must, Mr. Varney?”
”Must. This is a matter in which you are directly concerned.”
She faced him in frank wonderment. ”Why, what on earth can you mean?”
”Now you must! Now you must!” sang the _Cypriani's_ staunch little engines.
But he made the mistake of looking at her, and this move betrayed him.
There was no doubt of him in her upturned, perplexed face, no shadow of distrust to give him strength. His earlier dread of this moment, strangely faded for a while, closed in on him once more with deadly force.
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