“Hungerford,” I said, “you do not generally croak, but you are earning the character of the raven for yourself to-night. The thing is growing on you. What IS the use of bringing up unpleasant subjects? You are an old woman.” I fear there was the slightest irritation in my voice; but, truth is, the last few days’ experiences had left their mark on me, and Hungerford’s speech and manner had suddenly grown trying.
He stood for a moment looking at me with direct earnestness from under his strong brows, and then he stepped forward, and, laying his hand upon my arm, rejoined: “Do not be raw, Marmion. I’m only a blunt, stupid sailor; and, to tell you God’s truth, as I have told you before, every sailor is superstitious—every real sailor. He can’t help it—I can’t. I have a special fit on me now. Why don’t I keep it to myself? Because I’m selfish, and it does me good to talk. You and I are in one secret together, and it has made me feel like sharing this thing with a pal, I suppose.”
I seized his hand and begged his pardon, and called myself unpleasant names, which he on the instant stopped, and said: “That’s all right, Marmy; shake till the knuckles crack! I’m off. Don’t forget the dance.” He disappeared down the passage.
Then I went on deck, and the scene which I have so imperfectly described passed before me. Mrs. Falchion was surrounded with admirers all the evening, both men and women; and two of the very stately English ladies of title, to whom I before referred, were particularly gracious to her; while she, in turn, bore herself with becoming dignity. I danced with her once, and was down on her programme for another dance. I had also danced with Belle Treherne, who appeared as Miriam, and was chaperoned by one of the ladies of title; and I had also “sat out” one dance with her. Chancing to pass her as the evening wore on, I saw her in conversation with Mrs. Falchion, who had dismissed her cavalier, preferring to talk, she said, for dancing was tiresome work on the Indian Ocean. Belle Treherne, who up to that moment had never quite liked her, yielded to the agreeable charm of her conversation and her frank applausive remarks upon the costumes of the dancers. She had a good word for every one, and she drew her companion out to make the most of herself, as women less often do before women than in the presence of men. I am certain that her interest in Belle Treherne was real, and likewise certain that she cherished no pique against her because I had transferred my allegiance. Indeed, I am sure that she had no deep feeling of injured pride where I was concerned. Such after acidity as she sometimes showed was directed against the foolish part I had played with her and my action in subsequent events; it did not proceed from personal feeling or self-value.
Some time after this meeting I saw Boyd Madras issue from the companion-way dressed as a Greek. He wore a false beard, and carried off well his garments of white and scarlet and gold—a very striking and presentable man. He came slowly forward, looking about him steadily, and, seeing me, moved towards me. But for his manner I should scarcely have recognised him. A dance was beginning; but many eyes were turned curiously, and even admiringly, to him; for he looked singular and impressive and his face was given fulness by a beard and flesh paints. I motioned him aside where there was shadow, and said: “Well, you have determined to see her?”
“Yes,” he said; “and I wish you, if you will, to introduce me to her as Mr. Charles Boyd.
“You still think this wise?” I asked.
“It is my earnest wish. I must have an understanding to-night.” He spoke very firmly, and showed no excitement. His manner was calm and gentlemanly.
He had a surprising air of decision. Supporting an antique character, he seemed for the moment to have put on also something of antique strength of mind, and to be no longer the timid invalid. “Then, come with me,” I answered.
We walked in silence for a few minutes, and then, seeing where Mrs. Falchion was, we advanced to her. The next dance on her programme was mine. In my previous dance with her we had talked as we now did at table—as we did the first hour I met her—impersonally, sometimes (I am bold to say) amusingly. Now I approached her with apologies for being late. The man beside her took his leave. She had only just glanced at me at first, but now she looked at my companion, and the look stayed, curious, bewildered.