Part 40

She leaned back and closed her eyes. The wind had blown away the fog, the ship was forging steadily ahead through the rainy night, and she was on it! Penniless and alone, she was sailing the sea to a coral isle! She, the brisk, sensible Miss Smith who, twenty-four hours ago, had been a governess on the West Side of New York!

“I don’t care!” she said to herself, with a sort of triumph. “I’m young and healthy. I can--”

She didn’t complete the thought, but at that moment she actually felt that she could do pretty nearly anything, and could face the wide world undaunted. It was a very nice sort of feeling.

IV

The weather was rough, and many people who had appeared for lunch were not to be seen at dinner; but Miss Smith came down, quite fresh and rosy. Her suit case could provide nothing better than a blue linen blouse, which she had intended for breakfasts, not dinners. As she dressed, she thought, with a sigh, that she looked very sedate and unattractive; but Mr. Powers did not seem to think so. At least, he looked pleased to see her.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, “but I’ve taken a place for you at Herbert’s table. I’ve had Herbert for table steward before, and he’s good.”

Miss Smith did not mind, and she, too, found Herbert a good table steward.

“But I shan’t be able to give him any tip,” she thought. “And when I come back, all alone--”

Resolutely she banished that thought. She remembered how her father and mother used to talk about the folly of “borrowing trouble.” She had often thought that a shiftless sort of maxim, but now she found it wise. Perhaps they themselves had been wiser than she realized, for they had lived joyously in the day that was actually present, not troubling about days that had gone, or about future days which no one can really foresee.

Perhaps, she thought, the people who so anxiously provide for the future are the true romantics; for don’t they invent a future all full of troubles, and then believe firmly in what they have invented? Perhaps the so-called romantic people are the most practical, after all.

It was a good thing that notions like this came into her head, for they helped her to endure the disturbing events of that evening with more calmness than she could have felt if she had been entirely the old Miss Smith. Even as it was, she was not a little upset. She sat in the wicker armchair in her brightly lighted little stateroom. The ship pitched up and down. Her coat, hanging on a hook, flapped like a great bird, and her patent leather suit case slid over to the wall and out again. The thoughts in her mind were quite as uneasy.

“Darcy!” she said to herself. “Darcy! Heavens!”

For Mr. Powers had casually mentioned that his first name was Darcy. He was an Irishman--a mining engineer--and he had lived in South America for several years.

“Oh, Heavens!” said poor Miss Smith again.

For here were all the qualifications for a true hero of romance. And the way he had told her all this! It was on the almost deserted promenade deck, where the storm curtains filled and flapped in the wind, and the rain beat against them, and the scuppers rippled and gurgled like little brooks. Sensible people stayed within, but there these two had sat, side by side. The electric lights overhead had shone fiercely upon Mr. Powers’s dark, eager face, and upon his hair, black as a raven’s wing. He had told her all these things because he wanted her to know about him, because he hoped she would understand and like him. He had almost said so in words, and he had certainly said so with that half smiling, half anxious glance of his.

“I don’t care!” said Miss Smith to herself, with a sob.

She might be silly, but she wasn’t so silly as that. This thing might be an adventure. Indeed, she was willing to admit that it was one, and to see it through gallantly; but an adventure with a “heart interest” in it she would _not_ have!

In desperation she looked about for something to distract her mind. There was nothing to read except the little booklet hanging on the wall and an old copy of Lamb’s “Essays,” which she had brought along partly because she loved it, and partly because it seemed a fitting book for a governess. She took the booklet down. Once more she read the hours for meals, and then:

DECK CHAIRS AND RUGS--Deck chairs and rugs can be hired for the voyage at fixed charges. Payment should be made to the deck steward, who will issue a ticket.

Then payment _had_ been made to the deck steward for her chair and rug, and by Mr. Darcy Powers, and she could not reimburse him!

“I’ll have to be civil to him, at least, after that!” thought Miss Smith.

V

Sunday was the fairest day that ever dawned. Mr. Powers was on deck early. He saw the sun come up, and he was sorry Miss Smith was not there to see it, too. He thought she would have enjoyed the spectacle, and he himself would have enjoyed it more if she had been there.

At half past eight he went down into the dining saloon and looked about. Ten minutes later he descended again. Three times during the half hour he went into the dining saloon and looked about; and at last, at nine o’clock, he sat down and ordered his breakfast.

“Perhaps she’s seasick,” he thought.

Powers, as a rule, like all those who are never seasick, was unsympathetic toward those who were. He was inclined to consider seasickness a rather humorous thing; but in this case he did not think so. He thought of Miss Smith with unreasonable compassion. Sitting there over his very hearty breakfast, he began to worry about her. He thought it was a monstrous thing, an outrage, that she should be seasick. He began to grow angry with the Pattersons for getting themselves lost. They had no right to be so careless about themselves, and to leave Miss Smith all alone.

“She shouldn’t have to be a governess, anyhow--a pretty little thing like that,” he reflected.

Why Miss Smith’s small size or personal appearance should have debarred her from that useful employment he could not have explained, or why he found her so very touching. He had no idea how truly terrible her situation was. He had fancied, indeed, that it might be a good thing for her to have a little holiday from her Pattersons; but he was sorry for her, just the same. He remembered how her curly dark hair blew about her face in the wind, how the ruffled collar of her blouse stood up, how busy her small hands had been in quelling this enchanting disorder.

Mr. Powers sent a steward to inquire after her, and ten minutes later she appeared in person.

“I overslept myself!” she explained cheerfully.

He did not realize what that meant. For years and years Miss Smith had got up at seven o’clock. She had needed no alarm clock, for her sense of duty had never failed to arouse her; and now the sense of duty had slumbered. She was a little shocked at herself, and just a little proud. Coming down to breakfast at half past nine!

“You’ve finished, haven’t you?” she said.

But she knew very well that he would wait with her, and so he did.

“I think you’ll like Bermuda,” he said. “It’s a pretty place. I have an aunt living there, you know. I hope you’ll let me bring her to call on you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, but, you see, I shan’t be there,” said Miss Smith. “I’m going right back on this ship.”

“But the ship doesn’t sail again till Saturday, you know.”

“Saturday!” cried Miss Smith. “Doesn’t sail till Saturday!”

“No. At this time of the year there’s only one sailing a week.”

The breakfast had come. Herbert stood by, benevolently watching, but Miss Smith could not eat. She swallowed a cup of coffee and rose.

“I--I think I’ll go up on deck now,” she faltered.

Mr. Powers naturally went with her. He settled her in her deck chair and sat down beside her, and for a long time there was silence.

“Look here!” he said at last. “I’m sorry to see you so upset, Miss Smith; but these people--these Pattersons--_can’t_ be so unreasonable as--”

“Oh, it’s not that!” said she, in a sort of despair. “Only--”

He waited, looking at her face, which had suddenly grown so pale.

“I wish you’d tell me,” he said at length. “I know I’m a stranger to you, but--” He paused. “My aunt’s down there, you know,” he went on. “She might be able to--to advise you.”

Advice! What good would that do? Miss Smith was obliged to live on a strange island from Monday until Saturday on two quarters. She shook her head mutely. She couldn’t talk. She wished Mr. Powers would go away and leave her alone, to think.

After a while, he did. He saw he wasn’t wanted, and he went; but then it was worse than ever.

At half past twelve he came back.

“Won’t you come down to lunch?” he asked.

“I--I don’t feel like eating,” said Miss Smith.

Now, however, she was not so anxious for Mr. Powers to go away and let her think, and he did not go.

“Look here!” he said firmly. “Miss Smith, are you a good judge of character?”

“We-ell, yes,” replied Miss Smith. “Yes, I _think_ so.”

There is no one in the world who does not think the same thing. Just ask anybody!

“Then please look at me,” said Mr. Powers.

She raised her eyes to his face, only for an instant, and then glanced away.

“Do you think I have an honest face?” he asked. “Trustworthy?”

“Ye-es,” said Miss Smith.

“Then won’t you trust me? Tell me what’s wrong. I’m older than you, and I’ve knocked about a lot. I’ve been up against all sorts of difficulties, and I know pretty well how to get out of them. You’re here, all alone. You’re very young and very--” Again he paused. “Very much worried,” he continued; “and if you would tell me--”

Miss Smith stole another glance at his face, and it seemed to her not only trustworthy but intelligent and friendly; so she told him. The sedate and sensible Miss Smith confessed to a strange man that she only had two quarters.

He was silent for a moment, staring before him.

“If I’m any good at all,” he thought, “I’ll handle this thing properly, so that she won’t be hurt or offended or troubled in any way.”

So he said aloud, in just the right tone, calm and good humored:

“I see! Of course you were worried; but it’s all right now. I’ll take you to my aunt, Mrs. Mount. She’ll understand.”

Fortunately Miss Smith was not a sufficiently good judge of character to read Mr. Powers’s mind just then; for he was thinking:

“You poor, sweet little thing! You poor little darling! I’d like to buy the whole island and give it to you! You ought to have everything. You deserve everything, you dear little thing!”

Miss Smith didn’t believe that people ever really thought things like that.

VI

Nor was Darcy Powers so good a judge of character as he fondly imagined; for his aunt did not accept the situation in the right spirit at all. She pretended to do so, and he thought she did, but in her heart she was bitterly angry and hurt. Her nephew was all she had in the world, and she loved him. She had been looking forward to this vacation of his for two years; and then he came driving up with this Miss Smith!

She listened to his explanation with a pleasant smile. Still with a pleasant smile, she conducted Miss Smith to the spare bedroom and was very civil to her. Then her nephew had to go off to see certain old ladies who had known him since childhood and wanted to see him immediately, and Mrs. Mount ceased to smile.

Miss Smith was not worrying any more. Indeed, she had almost stopped thinking altogether. She had got off the boat that morning into a new world. She had got into a carriage with Mr. Powers and driven along a dream road. The colors. The white road, the white walls, the white houses, glistening like sugar in the sun! The pure blue of the sky, the glimpses of the sapphire sea, the glossy green of the palm leaves, the dark green of the cedars, the pink roses, the purple bougainvillea, the scarlet hibiscus!

Mrs. Mount’s cottage was an enchanted cottage, like the one that _Hänsel_ and _Gretel_ found in the wood, standing in a garden glorious with flowers. And Mrs. Mount herself was so handsome and dignified and polite, and this little bedroom was so bright, so sweet, so sunny!

“I’m really here!” thought Miss Smith. “I did come! It’s true!”

She had not even taken off her hat or opened her suit case. She just sat there by the window, lost in an innocent and utterly happy dream. This new world was so beautiful, and every one was so kind to her!

“Darcy is a dear boy,” said a voice from the garden, which she recognized as Mrs. Mount’s; “but this is _too_ much!”

“I heard,” said another voice, unknown to Miss Smith, but belonging to Mrs. Mount’s cousin, Miss Pineville, “that Darcy got off the boat this morning with some stranger--”

“And brought her here!” said Mrs. Mount. “She scraped up an acquaintance with him on shipboard--you know how easy that is--and told him some preposterous tale about being a governess, and having lost her purse and the family she was with. Of course there’s not a word of truth in it. A governess! An adventuress--that’s what she is!”

“Does Darcy--” began the other.

“Oh, Darcy!” interrupted Mrs. Mount impatiently. “He’s completely taken in by her; but I’m going to talk to him later. For instance, there’s her name. She distinctly told me her name was Nina Smith; but she left the book she’d been reading on the sitting room table, and written in it was ‘Little M., from father.’ Nina doesn’t begin with an ‘M,’ does it? And Smith! That’s just the name any one would take as an alias, to avoid suspicion. But you wait! I’ll find out the truth! I won’t have my nephew imposed upon!”

“I’d like to see her,” said the other eagerly. “Perhaps I--”

“I’ll call her out for a cup of tea,” said Mrs. Mount. “But be polite to her, Eliza, until I’ve found out.”

So Mrs. Mount went in and knocked on Miss Smith’s door. There was no answer. She knocked again, and then she opened the door. Miss Smith and her suit case were gone.

At first Mrs. Mount was glad.

“She must have heard what I said to Eliza in the garden,” she told her nephew. “She was frightened and ran away.”

“Frightened?” said he. “Is that how you imagine a sensitive young girl feels when she hears herself slandered and insulted? I brought her here--to you--because I thought you’d understand, and you’ve driven her away. An adventuress? Why, one look at her face might have told you--”

He turned away abruptly, but one look at _his_ face had certainly told Mrs. Mount something. She was no longer glad, but very sorry. She would have told him so, but it was too late. He had gone out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

VII

Miss Smith had done the obvious thing. She could not set off with her suit case and walk home, so she had taken the next best course. She had gone quietly out of the back door, through the garden, and down the road in the direction of the ship, which was, after all, a sort of bridge to home.

It was a long walk, and she had to ask her way, but in the course of time she got there. A young officer was standing under the shed, superintending the unloading of the cargo, and she went up to him.

“You’re one of the officers, aren’t you?” she asked.

He took off his cap and smiled at her. It was such a nice smile that she was able to go on, in a brisk, sensible way:

“I was one of the passengers, you know.”

“Yes,” said he. “I saw you on board.”

“And I want to go back,” said Miss Smith. “I want to go on the ship now, and stay there until it sails.”

He couldn’t help looking astonished.

“But I’m afraid--” he began.

“Well, I’ve got to!” cried Miss Smith, and he saw, with dismay, that there were tears in her eyes. “I’ve g-got to! I have some money in the savings bank in New York, and I can pay whatever it costs as soon as we get back.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he said politely; “but I’m afraid--”

He was silent for a moment, thinking of some tactful way of offering his assistance to this young person with tears in her eyes. No one could have felt more sympathetic than he; but Miss Smith, weary and sick at heart, firmly believed that he, too, thought her an adventuress.

“I’m a governess,” she said, in an unexpectedly loud and severe tone. “The family I was coming with somehow missed the ship, and--”

“What?” he cried. “A governess! But wait--look here!”

“Yes, I am!” said she. “I am!”

“Yes, but look here! I was at the gangway, you know, and just before we sailed a young chap came dashing up and gave me a purse--a long brown purse--”

“My purse!”

“‘It’s for Miss--can’t remember the name,’ he said. ‘It’s for Miss What’s-Her-Name, the governess,’ and then he dashed off again.”

“That’s me!” cried Miss Smith, pardonably ungrammatical in her emotion.

“Look here! I’m most awfully sorry!” said the young officer earnestly. “It’s all my fault. I turned it over to the purser and told him that Miss What’s-Her-Name would probably come and ask for it. You see, I never thought _you_ could be a governess, you know. I _am_ sorry!”

“But is it there? Can I get it?”

“Rather!” said he. “Purser’s on board now, getting ready to go ashore. I’ll fetch him.”

Off he went, and was back in no time with the purser and Miss Smith’s pocketbook. There was a note inside it.

MY DEAR MISS SMITH:

At the moment of embarkation I have received a message that my father in Chicago is dangerously ill, and wishes his family with him. I find we have just time to catch the next train. As it is too late to cancel our tickets, it seems advisable that you at least should continue with the trip, so that the entire outlay will not be wasted. You will, I am sure, have an instructive and entertaining account of your experience for Gladys when you rejoin us in New York. You will find your trunk and suit case in your stateroom.

As I do not know what money you may have in hand, I inclose an express money order, to cover whatever expenses may arise.

Wishing you a pleasant and profitable trip, I remain,

Very truly yours, HENRY PATTERSON.

“You see!” cried Miss Smith. “You see, I _am_--”

But she could not go on. The purser and the second officer--the latter had come up just then--decided that she ought to have a cup of tea, to quiet her nerves, so they all went over to a little tea room in the town.

It was there that Powers found her sitting at the table with two young men, all of them very jolly and cheerful. For a moment she was glad that he should see her like that--no longer forlorn and dejected, but a real human girl. Hat in hand, he stood beside her. He, too, tried to look jolly and cheerful, but he failed; and, looking up at him, Miss Smith felt a sudden sharp stab of regret. The adventure was over.

She introduced him to the two young men, and explained to him about the recovery of her purse.

“Good!” said he. “Then everything’s all right now?”

Of course everything was all right now, and yet--and yet somehow it wasn’t. Something seemed to be wrong. The two young men from the ship seemed to know this. They said they had better be getting along, and, after cordial farewells, they did go along.

Mr. Powers still stood where he was, still trying to look pleased, and still failing to do so; and in a flash Miss Smith understood just how he felt. He had wanted to be the one to make everything come out right, and it was cruel that he had not been. It was their adventure--his and hers. Nobody else had any business to get into it. It was coming out wrong!

Now Miss Smith knew very well that heroines in adventures rarely take a very active part, and that things just happen to them; but she was not quite accustomed to adventures yet, and she was in the habit of doing things for herself. Moreover, Darcy Powers was playing his part very poorly, simply standing there and not suggesting their talking it over.

“I’d like to go back and see Mrs. Mount,” she said firmly.

His face brightened remarkably.

“I didn’t think you’d ever--” he began.

“I’d like to show her that letter and explain--”

“See here!” he interrupted. “It’s not for _you_ to make explanations!”

She liked the way he said that!

“Still,” she said, “I’d rather.”

So they got into a carriage and drove off along that same road; but it was all very different now. The sun had gone down, leaving a soft, dark violet sky. The bright colors were dimmed. It was, she thought, a subdued and rather melancholy world. The adventure was over.

Mr. Powers remarked again how glad he was that everything had come out all right; but, as Miss Smith said nothing in response to this, he was discouraged and fell silent for a time.

“I never thought you’d come back there,” he said at last. “I thought--perhaps you had overheard what my aunt said, and--”

“Yes, I did overhear it,” said Miss Smith, in a calm and reasonable tone; “but, after all, she knew nothing about me. Why should she?”

“Anybody would know that you were--” he began, and stopped.

Miss Smith waited in vain to hear what she was. Turning a corner, they entered a road where the trees arched overhead and the low white walls gleamed ghostlike. A faint breeze rustled the leaves, and the little whistling frogs had set up their music. The lights of Mrs. Mount’s cottage were visible at the end of the road.

A strange pain seized Miss Smith. The lights of that little house, shining out steadily into the tranquil dusk, put her in mind of another cottage--her home, so long ago--and of the mother and father who had lived in it. She thought of the careless laughter, the hope, the courage, the great love, that had made their whole life a delightful adventure. Foolish? Romantic? Unpractical?

“They were the wisest, most wonderful people who ever lived,” she said to herself, with a stifled sob; “and the bravest. They weren’t afraid of life, like me!”

“I wonder what happened to your trunk!” said Mr. Powers.

So that was all he could think of to say!