She gazed at him with renewed interest, her foot tapping slowly against the rail. “I didn’t know that,” she murmured. And, since he didn’t spontaneously enlarge upon the interesting announcement, as she hoped he would, the girl presently asked him: “Would you like to talk about it? If you wouldn’t, please say so. I’ll never mention it again.”
He laughed, shortly and with some bitterness. “It won’t be necessary to do much talking. It was just something that came about. The moon was partly responsible, but I don’t care to lay the blame on any one but myself.”
“Some one in the troupe?” Elsa ventured.
“Yes. We didn’t get on together. She’s on her way to San Francisco now—and freedom,” he replied, with quiet significance.
“I see,” she said.
Their eyes met, and they shared between them a complex smile.
II
There were times when you felt you could safely disregard what the Captain was saying, and go your way, for he was by no means a tyrant or martinet. On the other hand, there were now and then occasions when he said something one knew instinctively must be regarded. Perhaps more the inflection than the substance—or maybe just a faint lifting of the chilly, flickering eyebrows.
At any rate, when the Captain suggested to Elsa that she stay on board that evening with her novel and not attempt to explore the island until morning, she knew this to be one of the times. Shrugging her shoulders, she drawled:
“All right, Captain. It’ll be too dark by the time we get in to see the sights.” And added, a little languidly: “This doesn’t seem the liveliest of ports.”