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.[Pg 241] 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.[Pg 242]”
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.