“Why, what’s this?” she asked. “There’s something heavy and jingly in——”
She stopped short, for the owner of the ulster was looking at her meaningly and shaking his head as a signal for silence.
“What did you say, my dear?” inquired her uncle absently.
“Nothing,” she answered, but her fingers continued to explore the depths of the pocket, and into her eyes came a half-puzzled, half-excited look. She opened her lips as though to speak, then closed them with an effort.
Bronston proposed another go at horse billiards—just a short game before luncheon. Again the Major volunteered to score for them. [436] The game was still going on when Keller appeared. He stopped within easy hailing distance of the trio.
“About ready for luncheon?” he called out, addressing Bronston.
“Just a minute or so,” answered Bronston, and went on showing his pupil how to make a certain shot.
Keller took a turn up and down the deck. He felt rather out of the picture somehow. His appetite was active too; trust the North Atlantic air for that. He took a turn or two more, growing hungrier with every step. Five minutes passed, and still the game showed no sign of breaking up. He swung about and approached them.
“Say,” he said, seeking to put a subtle shade of meaning into his words, “I’d like to go to lunch—if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, very well,” said Bronston; “we’ll stop, then.” Keller advanced until he was quite near them. As he did so he became aware that Miss Cartwright was staring hard at him. Bronston, all of a sudden, seemed to remember the small proprieties of the occasion.