Part 42 (1/2)

An hour later Eve and Richard were alone on deck. The others had gone down. The lovers had preferred the moonlight.

”Eve, old lady,” Richard said, ”you know that even with Austin's help I'm not going to be a Croesus. There won't be yachts--and chefs--and alligator pears.”

”Jealous, d.i.c.ky?”

”No. But you've always had these things, Eve.”

”I shall still have them. Aunt Maude won't let us suffer. She's a good old soul.”

”Do you think I shall care to partake of Aunt Maude's bounty?”

”Perhaps not. But I am not so stiff-necked. Oh, Ducky d.i.c.k, do you think that I am going to let you keep on being poor and priggish and steady-minded?”

”Am I that, Eve?”

”You know you are.”

Her laughing eyes challenged him. He would have been less than a man if he had not responded to the appeal of her youth and beauty. ”d.i.c.ky,” she said, ”when we are married I am going to give you the time of your young life. All work and no play will make you a dull boy, d.i.c.ky.”

In the night the clouds came up over the moon, and when the late and lazy party appeared on deck for luncheon, Marie-Louise complained. ”I hate it this way. There's going to be a storm.”

There was a storm before night. It blew up tearingly from the south and there was menace in it and madness.

Winifred and Eve were good sailors. But Marie-Louise went to pieces. She was frantic with fear, and as the night wore on, Richard found himself much concerned for her.

She insisted on staying on deck. ”I feel like a rat in a trap when I am inside. I want to face it.”

The wind was roaring about them. The sea was black and the sky was black, a thick velvety black that turned to copper when the lightning came.

”Aren't you afraid?” Marie-Louise demanded; ”aren't you?”

”No.”

”Why shouldn't you be? Why shouldn't anybody be?”

”My nerves are strong, Marie-Louise.”

”It isn't nerves. It's faith. You believe that the boat won't go down, and you believe that if it did go down your soul wouldn't die.”

Her white face was close to him. ”I wish I could believe like that,” she said in a high, sharp voice. Then she screamed as the little s.h.i.+p seemed caught up into the air and flung down again.

”Hush,” Richard told her; ”hush, Marie-Louise.”

She was shaking and s.h.i.+vering. ”I hate it,” she sobbed.

Pip, like a yellow specter in oilskins, came up to them. ”Eve wants you, Brooks,” he shouted above the clamor of wind and wave.

”Shall we go in, Marie-Louise?”

”No, no.” She cowered against his arm.