“Will you take me with you when you leave this island tonight?” she demanded.
He shook his head with his derisive smile. She had discounted that answer.
“How long do you mean to keep me here?”
“That depends on how agreeable you make yourself,” he said obscurely.
“What do you mean?”
“Merely that ... well, it’s a pleasant, salubrious spot, Wreck Island. You’ll find it uncommonly healthful and enjoyable, too, as soon as you get over the loneliness. Not that you’ll be so terribly lonely; I shall be here more or less, off and on, much of the time for the next few weeks. I don’t mind telling you, in strict confidence, as between father and child, that I’m planning to pull off something pretty big before long; of course it will need a bit of arranging in advance to make everything run smoothly, and this is ideal for a man of my retiring disposition, not overfond of the espionage of his fellow-men. So, if you’re docile and affectionate, we may see a great deal of one another for some weeks—as I said.”
“And if not—?”
“Well”—he waved his hands expressively—“of course, if you incline to be forward and disobedient, then I shall be obliged to deny you the light of my countenance, by way of punishment.”
She shook her head impatiently. “I want to know when you will let me go,” she insisted, struggling against the oppression of her sense of helplessness.
“I really can’t say.” He pretended politely to suppress a yawn, indicating that the subject bored him inordinately. “If I could trust you—”