When dinner was over, Dick sat by himself in a quiet spot on the liner’s quarter-deck. There was a tall, iron bulwark beside him, but close by this was replaced by netted rails, through which he caught the pale shimmer of the sea. The warm land-breeze had freshened and ripples splashed against the vessel’s side, while every now and then a languid gurgle rose from about her waterline and the foam her plates threw off was filled with phosphorescent flame. A string band was playing on the poop, and passengers and guests moved through the intricate figures of a Spanish dance on the broad deck below. Their poses were graceful and their dress was picturesque, but Dick watched them listlessly.
He was not in a mood for dancing, for he had been working hard at the dam and his thoughts were disturbed. Clare had refused him, and although he did not accept her decision as final, he could see no way of taking her out of her father’s hands, while he had made no progress towards unraveling the latter’s plots. Kenwardine was not on board, but Dick had only seen Clare at some distance off across the table in the saloon. Moreover, he thought she must have taken some trouble to avoid meeting him.
Then he remembered the speeches made by the visitors at dinner, and the steamship officers’ replies. The former, colored by French and Spanish politeness and American wit, eulogized the power of the British navy and the courage of her merchant captains. There was war, they said, but British commerce went on without a check; goods shipped beneath the red ensign would be delivered safe in spite of storm and strife; Britannia, with trident poised, guarded the seas. For this the boldly-announced sailing list served as text, but Dick, who made allowances for exuberant Latin sentiment, noted the captain’s response with some surprise.
His speech was flamboyant, and did not harmonize with the character of the man, who had called at the port before in command of another ship. He was gray-haired and generally reserved. Dick had not expected him to indulge in cheap patriotism, but he called the British ensign the meteor flag, defied its enemies, and declared that no hostile fleets could prevent his employers carrying their engagements out. Since the man was obviously sober, Dick supposed he was touting for business and wanted to assure the merchants that the sailings of the company’s steamers could be relied upon. Still, this kind of thing was not good British form.
By and by Don Sebastian came down a ladder from the saloon deck with Clare behind him. Dick felt tempted to retire but conquered the impulse and the Spaniard came up.
“I have some business with the purser, who is waiting for me, but cannot find my señora,” he explained, and Dick, knowing that local conventions forbade his leaving Clare alone, understood it as a request that he should take care of her until the other’s return.
“I should be glad to stay with Miss Kenwardine,” he answered with a bow, and when Don Sebastian went off opened a deck-chair and turned to the girl.
“You see how I was situated!” he said awkwardly.
Clare smiled as she sat down. “Yes; you are not to blame. Indeed, I do not see why you should apologize.”
“Well,” said Dick, “I hoped that I might meet you, though I feared you would sooner I did not. When I saw you on the ladder, I felt I ought to steal away, but must confess that I was glad when I found it was too late. Somehow, things seem to bring us into opposition. They have done so from the beginning.”