“My dear Mrs. Billington,” he responded, “you may or may not have observed a small heart-shaped aperture in each door or hatch of the cabin, exactly opposite the steersman’s seat. It was through one of these apertures that your daughter communicated with me. Very appropriate shape, I must say, although their purpose is simply that of ventilation.”
“It was very little ventilation we had in that awful place, Mr. Hatterly!” interjected Mrs. Billington, remembering those hours of horror.
“Very little, indeed, my dear Mrs. Billington,” replied Mr. Hatterly, in an apologetic tone; “and I am afraid your daughter and I, between us, were responsible for some of your discomfort. She had her hand through the port ventilator about half the time.”
Miss Billington (as before).—“I wonder the man isn’t struck dead, sitting there! Of all the wicked, heartless falsehoods I ever heard—!”
“And may I ask, Mr. Hatterly,” inquired Mrs. Billington, “what my daughter’s hand was doing through the ventilator?”
“Pressing mine, God bless her!” responded Mr. Hatterly, unabashed.
Miss Billington, (as before, but conscious of a sudden, hideous chill).—“Good heavens! the man can’t be lying; he’s simply mistaken.”
“I see, my dear Mrs. Billington,” said Mr. Hatterly, “that I shall have to be perfectly frank with you. Such passages are not often repeated, especially to a parent; but under the circumstances I think you will admit that I have no other guarantee of my good faith to give you. I have no doubt that if you were to ask your daughter at this minute about her feelings, she would think she ought to sacrifice her affection to the duty that she thinks is laid out for her in a distant life. Did I feel that she could ever have any happiness in following that path, believe me, I should be the last to try to win her from it, no matter what might be my own loneliness and misery. But after what she confided to me in that awful hour of peril, where, in the presence of imminent death, it was impossible for her to conceal or repress the deepest feelings of her heart, I should be doing an injustice to her as well as to myself, and even to you, my dear Mrs. Billington—for I know how sincerely you wish her happiness—if I were to let any false delicacy keep me from telling you what she said to me.” Jack Hatterly could talk when he got going.
Miss Billington, (as before, but hot, not cold).—“Now, I am going to know which one of those girls was talking to him, if I have to stay here all day.”