She heard Franklin striding up and down the deck like a sentry. It made her feel even more like a prisoner than ever.
Only Franklin and the watching stars knew who was the real prisoner, sentenced for life to a love that set a hitherto untouched heart into a great blaze.
The morning was dull and leaden and windless, the sea as flat as the palm of a hand. Dressed and ready in good time and wearing a most amazing smile, Beatrix slipped out of her stateroom and over to the port side. Mr. Jones was waiting in the small launch, talking to one of the sailors. She was going to escape from her floating jail, yes, escape. How she would love to be able to see Franklin's face when she didn't turn up for breakfast.
And then her arm was seized in an iron grip. "No, you don't. Believe me, no."
It was Franklin, with an overcoat over his dinner jacket. He had obviously not been to bed.
She drew up and tried to bluff. "I'm only going to ring up Mrs. Keene and tell her——"
"Go back to your room!"
"But I must give her instructions as to what——"
"Go back to your room, I tell you."
She stamped her foot. This man was unendurable,—and his hand hurt her arm. "What is all this? Do you suppose that I'm going to take orders from you?"