The boat had started again, but they didn’t notice it. Miss Kittridge was steadily and happily consuming Gina’s Scotch kisses.
V
It would be impossible to any chronicler to describe all that took place in Murchison’s soul during that brief trip. The easiest way is to say bluntly that he fell in love, and for most readers that will go a long way toward an explanation; but one must bear in mind the character of the man, his frightful obstinacy, his outrageous pride, and the matter-of-fact romanticism of his secret heart.
He was amazed, delighted, awed. He knew that he was in love; he knew that this was the real thing, for which he had always been waiting. Lack of self-confidence was not among his faults. He hoped, he believed, that if he could have a clear field, he would have a fair chance with this matchless girl. She liked him, she trusted him, she was amused by his jokes, interested in all the information he had to give. If he could keep her from seeing him as Old Dog Tray!
“I won’t have it!” he thought fiercely. “I won’t have this spoiled by such a thing!”
The boat bumped its way into the slip, and a lurching procession of people came up to the gates. Miss Kittridge wished to join them. She glanced anxiously at Murchison, but he didn’t stir. The gates opened, and the crowd began to hurry off.
“Hadn’t we better go?” she said.
“Very well,” he answered absently, and off they went.
“Mrs. Wigmore told me to take the North Shore train,” she began, but Murchison grasped her arm firmly and led her to the waiting room.
“Miss Kittridge,” he said, in a peculiar voice, “you’d better not go there.”