“You might be satisfied with your position,” the other man went on, disregarding. “A week ago you would have thought it bliss.”
“So it is.” Hugh rose on wings. “But if ever you’d been in love, you’d understand that the uncertainty is awfully trying. After what happened once, I shan’t have a minute’s peace until we’re married. Now, when she might have let me say something, she has sent me off.”
Wareham was understood to mutter that no one could assist Hugh but Hugh himself.
“Oh, I know, I know! Only I want to keep her pleased.”
Three weeks before his friend would have flung out that if he couldn’t effect this preliminary he had better step aside and leave the lady to please herself. Three weeks, however, had changed, if not his opinions, at least his power of advancing them. Silence was again his refuge. And Hugh meandered on.
“Perhaps old Martyn will say a good word for me. Suppose Anne says I am not to go on with them!”
“Can’t you take your dismissal?”
“No!” Hugh flung out the word with such energy that a passing sailor looked round to see whether the quarrel was serious. Wareham recognised and admired the tenacity.
“You’ve grip,” he admitted. “It would take less to put me off.”
The young man made no answer. They were nearing a landing-place, the usual group stood there, only that at this hour they were dark shadows, now and then flashed upon by a moving light; two boys in fur caps carried great plates of wild strawberries. Hugh bought a couple, with promise that the steamer should bring back the plates. He dashed off with them to Anne, and was back in a moment.