“Is she really in the coils of the anaconda?”
“I am afraid so. She won’t talk about it herself,–at least, not with Protestants,–but some of her friends say she thinks of going into a convent.”
“Well,” said Patrick Boyd, with a sudden warmth, as they turned to go below, “all I can say is, that the institution, sacred or secular, that tries to lure such a girl into a convent ought to be hustled into space.”
“Amen to that!”
20II
FROTH OF THE SEA
An hour later, as the Maid of the North was steaming for the open sea, the man from Africa and his new acquaintance formed a group on the after deck.
The day was a rare one, even for early June. Across the surface of the water–now a sparkling, joyful blue–the air came free and full of life. This air was exhilarating. It inspired Father Burke to tell a funny anecdote, and he did it well. For not only did Father Burke possess a sense of humor, but his heavy, benevolent face, white hair, and deep voice gave unusual impressiveness to whatever he chose to utter. Even Mr. Appleton Marshall, a victim of acute Bostonia, eluded for a time his own self-consciousness. He soon went below, however, to revel, undisturbed, in a conservative 21local paper. Mr. Patrick Boyd,–or Pats, as we may as well call him,–being always of a buoyant spirit, added liberally to the general cheer.
The young lady regarded this addition to her party with a peculiar interest. She knew that the mention of his name in his own family was for years a thing forbidden. Just how bad he was, or how innocent, she had never learned. And now, as she studied, furtively, this exile of uncertain reputation, and as she recognized the open nature, the fortitude, the tranquil spirit, all unmistakably written in his emaciated, sunburnt face, her curiosity was quickened. She knew that Sally, his elder sister,–her own intimate friend,–had persisted in a correspondence with her brother against her father’s wishes. And that, perhaps, was in his favor. At least, he had a good mouth and honest eyes. His neck, his hands, and his legs were preternaturally thin, and she wondered if the gap between his collar and his throat told a truthful story of South African fever. If so, the change had been appalling. However, neither bullets nor fever had reduced his spirits.