He nodded. He understood that very well.
"I'm just admitting that at present I'm in your hands—helpless—and many long weeks in before us," she went on. "I'm on my father's side, last and always, and I'll strike back at you if the chance comes. Expect no mercy from me, in case I ever see my way to strike."
The man's eyes suddenly gleamed. "Don't you know—that you'd have a better chance of fighting me—if you didn't put me on guard?"
"I don't think so. I don't believe you'd be fooled that easy. Besides—I can't pretend to be a friend—when I'm really an enemy."
For one significant instant the man looked down. This was what he had done—pretended friendship when he was a foe. But his was a high cause!
"I'm warning you that I'm against you to the last—and will beat you if I see my way," the girl went on. "But at the same time I'm going to make the best of a bad situation, and try to get all the comfort I can. I'm in your hands at present, and we're foes, but just the same we can talk, and try to make each other comfortable so that we can be comfortable ourselves, and try not to be any more miserable than we can help. I'm not going to cry any more."
As she talked she was slowly unwrapping the little parcel she had brought. Presently she held it out to him.
It was just a box of homemade candy—fudge made with sugar and canned milk—that she had brought for their day's picnic. But it was a peace offering not to be despised. A heavy load lifted from Ben's heart.
He waited his chance, guiding the boat with care, and then reached a brown hand. He crushed a piece of the soft, delicious confection between his lips. "Thanks, Beatrice," he said. "I'll remember all you've told me."