She evaded the explanation of her own presence with a speech that even at the time struck Napier as being more odd than her apparition on board the Britannia.
"Forgive me for saying that. I know, wherever you are in these days, you are at the Front."
It was something. It was undoubtedly too much, and yet it comforted. The eager hope rose in him: she had come to know of Greta's return. Without Napier's intervention, she had come to know of matters in that connection which had made her flee. Hardly was the hope framed when it was dashed.
"I got tired of waiting to hear from Greta," she explained. Besides, she had a feeling she couldn't go on. She'd written him that. To show him she really had got off, the letter was to be posted from Queenstown. It was in—Heavens! where was the green suit-case? Seeing him had put it out of her head.
Oh, Napier would look for, he would find, the green suit-case!
But, no, she dashed after him. "Certainly not," she faltered as she caught him up, unless by any chance she shouldn't find it in her cabin. With consternation in her face, she flew down the companionway.
Serenity had returned when Napier met her a quarter of an hour later on the way to the dining-saloon.
"It's a wonder I knew you," he said, "in a different hat."
"Can't wear the Mercury on board ship. But I won't have you mocking at it." She stood with several letters in her hand.
"Why mayn't I mock at a Mercury cap if I like?" He remembered he hadn't waited till now to commit that indiscretion.