“No; I—I felt so much better that I took a little stroll into the city.”
“Not alone, I hope? I don’t mind London, or certain parts of Paris, but you know how I feel about Italy, especially at the docks. You did not go alone?”
“Mother! Of course not!”
“The steamer seemed deserted when we left. Who went with you?”
“A friend of the Captain—he’s a very unusual——”
“He?”
“Yes, a friend of the Captain. The Captain told him——”
“I don’t like the captain of this boat. I hope his friends are less evil looking. What’s the name of this friend of the Captain?”
Why can’t we have some sense of the future? All day she had lived in the passing hour, and yet a single thought ahead would have assured her that she would have to meet this subtle, inevitable cross-examination in the evening. Mrs. Wells never meant to be unkind or domineering, but she was everlastingly on guard. She permitted the largest kind of liberty, but she always “wanted to know.” Concealment, subterfuge, these were her enemies. It would have been so easy for Geraldine to have discovered the man’s name. Of course the mystery was charming; but at the dinner, say, it would have been a simple matter to lean forward and say, “This incognito is delightful, my dear Richard, but I have a most exacting, scrutinizing mother who will demand precisely who you are. Now let’s call the game off and tell each other our real names.” She remembered now, that part of her own game had been to conceal the existence of mother, to play the part of independent young person. Otherwise how could she have fooled him with that audacious suggestion to stay over until the next steamer? And, by the way, how did she ever get nerve enough to do that! The thing did not seem bold in daylight; but here on this gloomy deck with an alert and expectant mother waiting for particulars it suddenly appeared brazen.
“His name——” Geraldine yawned carefully and at length to gain time. “A peculiar name”—yawn—“If I had my steamer-list here I—ooh! I’m so sleepy. It was”—yawn—“Richard”—yawn.