“Neither’ve I—in real winter weather; except when coming home this last time.”
Ruth glanced up at him and caught his eyes pondering her. He had meant merely to be courteous to her when meeting her on shipboard; but too much had passed between them, in their brief, tempestuous first meeting. He was feeling that as well as she! The gage which she had thrown before him was not to be ignored. However certainly he may have thought that he would be merely polite to this girl who had—he deemed—insulted his comrades and himself, however determinedly he had planned to chat with her about wind and weather, he wanted to really talk with her now! And however firmly Ruth had decided to avoid any word which could possibly offend him, still she found herself replying:
“Then you think of Chicago as your home?”
“Of course; why not?”
She turned her back more squarely to the wind and gazed down the length of the deck, hesitating.
“I might as well own up, Miss Gail,” he said to her suddenly. “I’m still mad.”
“At me?”
“At you. For a while I was so mad that I didn’t want to see you or think of you,” he admitted with the frankness which had enabled him to ask her, directly, how she happened to be at Mrs. Corliss’. “But that didn’t seem to do me any good. So I called up your hotel——”
“You did? When?”
“After you were gone—about two days after. They had no address for you and Hub had none. I asked him.”