“How clear-sighted you men are!” she cried.
Hugh disclaimed modestly.
“Not we, for you women often puzzle us. But if I didn’t know Wareham, I don’t know who should. He’s been better than a brother to me, stuck by me, and pulled me through a lot. Oh, hang that old man! If he’s going to monopolise Anne, I’ll have a smoke meanwhile. You’re coming down to the feed, Mrs Martyn? May I choose your places?”
“Leave that to Mr Wareham,” she called after him, with a laugh.
Wareham sat with the Ravenhills at the other table of the narrow cabin. Anne’s voice behind him sounded in his ears, so that he heard little else, and gave himself the luxury of silence that he might listen to the dear sounds. Mrs Ravenhill found him a dull companion, and raised her eyebrows to Millie to indicate her opinion while she praised the salmon. Youth had ousted age, and Hugh was at Anne’s elbow, with irreverent jests upon the professors dread of the cabin. The steamer had anchored off a little village, to disembark a company of unkempt soldiers, and was rolling steadily, to the discomfort of more than one.
“I looked into the ladies’ cabin,” said Anne. “It is not to be faced, and I shall spend the night on deck.”
“I too. But the night is not very long.”
“True. I had forgotten. We land at one. Are you really coming with us?”
“What else on earth should I do?”
“That is easily answered. Go home with your friend. Are you not his fidus Achates? Don’t you think it base to desert him?”