"You don't mean to say you're going—that you think there's any consideration due her?"
"Don't you?" Whitaker smiled wearily. "Perhaps you're right. I don't know. We won't discuss the ethics of the situation; right or wrong, I don't mean to shadow whatever happiness she has in store for her by ostentatiously snuffing myself out just now."
Peter gulped and succeeded in saying nothing. But he stared.
"At the same time," Whitaker resumed, "I don't think I can stand this sort of thing. I can't go round with my flesh creeping to hear the whisperings behind my back. I've got to do something—get away somewhere."
Abrupt inspiration sparked the imagination of Peter Stark, and he began to sputter with enthusiasm.
"I've got it!" he cried, jumping to his feet. "A sea trip's just the thing. Chances are, it'll turn the trick—bring you round all right-O, and prove what asses doctors are. What d'you say? Are you game for a sail? The Adventuress is laid up at New Bedford now, but I can have her put in commission within three days. We'll do it—we'll just light out, old man! We'll try that South Seas thing we've talked about so long. What d'you say?"
A warm light glowed in Whitaker's sunken eyes. He nodded slowly.