She was leaning against the cockpit rail, looking forward, and I could not see her face. She spoke without turning.
“You thought yours was the certainty,” she said. “You warned me that I was sure to lose.”
“Did I? Well, you may, even yet. On the whole, I think I'll wait a while before buying those gloves. Remember, there was no time limit. When you said that—”
“Father,” more firmly, “please be quiet. You have said quite enough. Mr. Paine is not likely to be interested in the family gambling.”
I was interested in this particular “gamble.” The wager had, obviously, something to do with me. I suppose I should have felt flattered at being made the subject of a bet in such select circles, but I did not. I had not been informed as to the details of that bet.
There was nothing more said about it at the time and my passengers talked of other things as we sailed home before the fast dying breeze. It died almost altogether as we passed the lighthouse at Crow Point and entered the bay and, for an hour, we barely held our own against the tide. The sun set, twilight came, and the stars appeared one by one. Colton, lying at full length on the deck forward of the cockpit, smoked in lazy enjoyment. His only remark in ten minutes was to the effect that his wife had probably drowned us all, in her mind, a dozen times over by now.
His daughter, sitting by the rail and looking out over the smooth, darkly glimmering water, bade him be quiet.
“You must not talk,” she said. “This is the most wonderful night I ever experienced. How still it is! You can hear every sound. Hark!”
From the dusk, to port, came the clear strokes of a church bell striking eight.
“That is the clock at the Methodist Church, isn't it?” asked Miss Colton.