“It is not much that I can do, still I should like to do it. I can at least watch.” Then, very earnestly: “He watched beside Hector.”
I left her with him, her fingers moving the small bag of ice about his forehead to allay the fever and her eyes patiently regarding him. I went on deck again. I met Miss Treherne and her father. They both inquired for the sick man, and I told Belle—for she seemed much interested—the nature of such malarial fevers, the acute forms they sometimes take, and the kind of treatment required. She asked several questions, showing a keen understanding of my explanations, and then, after a moment’s silence, said meditatively: “I think I like men better when they are doing responsible work; it is difficult to be idle—and important too.”
I saw very well that, with her, I should have to contend for a long time against those first few weeks of dalliance on the ‘Fulvia’.
Clovelly joined us, and for the first time—if I had not been so egotistical it had appeared to me before—I guessed that his somewhat professional interest in Belle Treherne had developed into a very personal thing. And with that thought came also the conception of what a powerful antagonist he would be. For it improves some men to wear glasses; and Clovelly had a delightful, wheedling tongue. It was allusive, contradictory (a thing pleasing to women), respectful yet playful, bold yet reverential. Many a time I have longed for Clovelly’s tongue. Unfortunately for me, I learned some of his methods without his art; and of this I am occasionally reminded at this day. A man like Clovelly is dangerous as a rival when he is not in earnest; when he IS in earnest, it becomes a lonely time for the other man—unless the girl is perverse.
I left the two together, and moved about the deck, trying to think closely about Roscoe’s case, and to drive Clovelly’s invasion from my mind. I succeeded, and was only roused by Mrs. Falchion’s voice beside me.
“Does he suffer much?” she murmured.
When answered, she asked nervously how he looked—it was impossible that she should consider misery without shrinking. I told her that he was only flushed and haggard as yet and that he was little wasted. A thought flashed to her face. She was about to speak, but paused. After a moment, however, she remarked evenly: “He is likely to be delirious?”
“It is probable,” I replied.
Her eyes were fixed on the search-light. The look in them was inscrutable. She continued quietly: “I will go and see him, if you will let me. Justine will go with me.”
“Not now,” I replied. “He is sleeping. To-morrow, if you will.”