"Never in this world! I have your address. I'll dig up New York from one end to the other but I'll find you, little mother!"
"Take care of yourself. And please come and find me!" But she went down the gang-plank with a queer, empty feeling in her heart. He might find her, but the gray lady would shortly vanish forever.
Had she been mothering him? Or had she been attracted from another angle? She had never met a man like this before, worldly in his understanding, handsome, virile, a man's man, but an utter child in the presence of a woman. Perhaps the attraction was its novelty. Hitherto she had looked upon men cynically. She was like one who had been chasing a mirage across the desert, to find a water-hole unexpectedly.
It had been so easy to deceive him. Her voice, the roundness of her body, the firmness of her hand and foot, these hadn't told him anything. How many times had she almost reached out to rumple his hair? Why hadn't she? Why did she want to? She carried this riddle with her for many days.
Mathison walked down the gang-plank into the vast shed. Almost at once a man approached him and handed him an envelope. He made off without a word. Mathison, without glancing at the envelope, stuffed it in his pocket and proceeded toward the customs barrier. He passed this with little or no delay, got into a taxicab and was driven to the ferry. Over in Oakland he found the train made up, so he went into his compartment immediately. He put away the green ribbon and rang for the porter.
"Screens in the window," he said.
"Yes, suh."
"I shall ring for you whenever I need you. Knock three times shortly on the door when you answer."
"Yes, suh."
"I shall have my meals in here. Always bring the waiter to the door yourself."