He turned on her almost roughly. “You can’t suppose I need to be told what was in your mind when we got caught in the ice? And when that first ship showed on the horizon—” He stopped again, and turned away as one who has said all.
“You”—the mere suggestion took away her breath—“you didn’t think it might be—”
“You did.”
“No, no. I knew, dead or alive, he was on the other side of the world. Or, at nearest, in California.”
“I don’t tempt him by being sure.” The rigid line of his lips looked less like firmness than an effort at control. “If I were to be sure again, especially here, the fog there would open and a ship come sailing through. And it would be his ship. And in a moment your ship, too.”
“Don’t you know for him to be up here is physically impossible, even if he’s alive?”
Cheviot shook his head. “There are some men—even their ghosts can fight their battles. His did, once before.”
“I could never have believed you were superstitious.”
“Mayn’t I have even that much imagination?”
“You’ve forgotten it was all just a dream of mine. Why”—she couldn’t help giving out a little miserable laugh—“you’ve forgotten, just as I used to, that I’ve never seen him?”