“What is your suspicion?”
He stopped in obvious uncertainty as to his reply. Looking away through the open door, he said: “Oh, nothing–except that we are not where we want to be.”
“Well, what else?”
Pats met her glance and saw that she was becoming distrustful. Standing with one hand upon the ancient table, with the tapestries and busts behind her, she was a striking figure, and in perfect harmony with the surrounding magnificence. She reminded him of some picture of an angry queen at bay–confronting her enemies. In her eyes and in her manner he clearly read that she had resolved to know the truth. Moreover, she gave at this moment 77a distinct impression of being a person of considerable spirit. So, to allay her suspicions, which he could only guess at, he related, after the briefest hesitation, all he had heard the night before between the two sailors, repeating, as nearly as possible, what the drunken man had said. When he had finished she replied, calmly, but evidently repressing her indignation:
“Why did you not tell me this earlier?–on the boat, before it was too late?”
“I did not suppose you would care to know. I attached very little importance to it.”
“Importance! I think I might have had some choice as to being landed in the wilderness with you alone, or going on to your sisters.”
Pats regarded her in a mild surprise. Her sudden anger was very real. He answered, gently: “The man was so drunk he hardly knew what he was saying. His companion, who probably knew him well, paid no attention to his words.”
“But I should have paid attention to his words. And so would my uncle, or any friend of mine, if he could have heard him.”
Pats, taken aback at the new light in which he stood, retorted, with some feeling: