“Oh—I could not see you at all,” said her mother. “Come down into the moonlight.”
The young girl descended the steps, and the two began to walk up and down together on the platform.
“Those were two of the people from the yacht that I met at the door,” said Mrs. Bowring. “The lady in white serge, and that good-looking young man.”
“Yes,” Clare answered. “They were here some time. I don’t think they saw me.”
She had meant to tell her mother something of what had happened, in the hope of being told that she had done right in not revealing her presence. But on second thoughts she resolved to say nothing about it. To have told the story would have seemed like betraying a confidence, even though they were strangers to her.
“I could not help wondering about them this afternoon,” said Mrs. Bowring. “She ordered him about in a most extraordinary way, as though he had been her servant. I thought it in very bad taste, to say the least of it. Of course I don’t know anything about their relations, but it struck me that she wished to show him off, as her possession.”
“Yes,” answered Clare, thoughtfully. “I thought so too.”
“Very foolish of her! No man will stand that sort of thing long. That isn’t the way to treat a man in order to keep him.”
“What is the best way?” asked the young girl idly, with a little laugh.
“Don’t ask me!” answered Mrs. Bowring quickly, as they turned in their walk. “But I should think—” she added, a moment later, “I don’t know—but I should think—” she hesitated.