“That should help you in another matter. You won’t take your not getting Osborne’s girl quite so hard.”
For a few moments Aynsley sat still with knitted brows. It was his habit to be honest with himself, and he saw that to some extent his father was right. He thought of Ruth with deep tenderness and regret, and he believed that he would always do so, but the poignant sense of loss which he had at first experienced had gone. He did not think that he was fickle or disloyal to her, but his new interests had somehow dulled the keenness of his pain.
“I suppose that’s true,” he answered quietly.
“Your real trouble will begin when you see her getting fond of another man. What are you going to do about it then?”
Aynsley winced.
“It’s rather hard to speak about, but, if the fellow’s fit for her, I’ll try to bear it and wish them well.”
“You’ll make good,” Clay commented with dry approval. “But I’ve been getting off the track. You have been sticking to your work pretty closely, and, as things are going, you can leave it without much risk. I want you to take me North for a few weeks in the yacht. The doctor recommends the trip.”
It struck Aynsley that his father was not looking well. He had lost his high color, his face had grown pouchy under the eyes, and he had a strained, nervous look. Aynsley had some business on hand which demanded his personal attention, but he recognized his duty to his father. Then, the North had its fascination, and the thought of another grapple with gray seas, smothering fog, and biting gales appealed to him.
“Very well,” he said. “When do you want to go?”
“As soon as we can get away. Next week, if possible. You had better tell the captain to get his crew and coal on board.”