Geraldine found it too dark for sewing, so rested her hands in her lap and looked out to sea. Before the interruption the conversation between the three had been quiet and intimate. She felt that they were just about to approach interesting and novel things, revelations about the common modes of thinking that would illuminate them for ever. It was not a doctrine of cruelty and selfishness that Richard was presenting, and in no sense had he the attributes of a doctrinaire. As he talked his face had taken on a wistful inquiry as if he were in the act of coming to curious conclusions, he knew not what. “Life is a strange land,” he had said to her once in talking about Walter; “I always act towards it like a voyageur floating down an unknown river. At any turn may be a peaceful lake, a wonderful vista, an enemy in waiting or a dangerous waterfall. It is folly to predict too much on the sole basis of the journey done. And it is all wonderful to the curious minded, even the enemy in waiting—if you approach him right he may turn out to be a friend!”
Neither Geraldine nor Mrs. Wells was listening to the eloquent Freneau.
“I am sure you have a thought on that point, Mrs. Wells,” Mr. Freneau leaned forward expectantly. This was the proper professional attitude to quicken interest among wandering students. “Do let us share it.”
“Well, I will,” Mrs. Wells arose. She got up carefully and breathed deeply to steady herself, for she wished to conceal the fact that Walter had struck her a hard blow. Her pride would never have owned to it, but it took serious attention on her part to rise and walk without a show of stiffness. “Well, I will,” she spoke firmly: “I have been thinking very, very deeply on a matter that worries me much as I get nearer home. I’m thinking exactly what I shall do to George Alexander if he hasn’t weeded my hardy perennials exactly according to directions. If he has permitted those sweet-williams and Michaelmas daisies to monopolize the whole patch at the expense of those delicate larkspurs, I’ll—I’ll—probably take away his corn pone for a month.”
CHAPTER VII
GETTING WARM!
Meanwhile, in Richard’s stateroom Walter had had his gill and was fighting hard at cribbage to count in a fine handful of “fifteen’s.” “Pretty smart,” Richard remarked as he drew a card. “Now why did you let me have that eight spot?”
“Knew the five was under it,” Walter grinned and rolled out his tongue foolishly.
“How did you know that?”
“Oh, I know the cards all right. And I know you got two eights and a seven which you aren’t goin’ to count in.... I need that five to make a ‘fifteen-two.’”
Walter made good his boast in one or two swift plays that ended the game in his favour.