"Well, don't anticipate trouble," called Peter dryly. "You can't feel mean by the five o'clock train, however much you may deserve—"
"Why not?"
"There isn't any. She goes through at four-seven. You'll have to compose yourself to wait till eight-ten, unless you want to walk."
Varney halted at the head of the companionway, surprisingly disappointed. From the moment when the Cypriani had put about, he had been insistently conscious that his first duty now was to see Mr. Carstairs, beg absolution from his promise, and formally surrender his commission. So only, he had felt, could he go on with clean hands.
"Well, don't look so glum over it," said Peter. "You're not any sorrier about your prolonged stay in our midst than I am."
Varney turned an inquiring eye upon him, and he began walking rather restlessly up and down the deck.
"Oh, this same old rot!" he broke out impatiently. "I'll never be easy in my mind till you are back in New York, and stay there—"
"Well, well, Peter! Stick it out for three hours more—"
"Not long after you and Miss Carstairs steamed off," continued Peter, "Hare blew back down here, tired of waiting and a little excited. He had just heard some passing whispers about you and me. He says there seems to be a little suppressed excitement in town this afternoon."
"Why, I thought your paper had kicked all that nonsense into a cocked hat."