“If I were you, I would go back to Oxfordshire,” he said.
“But I cannot—at least, not until I have spoken to her. I am—poor. I am practically engaged as companion—another name for governess, I suspect—to Mrs. Baumgartner’s daughter, and I dare not throw away the chance of obtaining a good situation.”
Warden, who was dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief, did not reply at once, and Evelyn Dane, in her distress, little guessed the irrational conceit that danced in his brain just then. But the presence of Peter, and the torrent of sarcastic objurgation that flowed from the guardian of the Sans Souci, imposed restraint. It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest that, under the conditions, it would be a capital notion if they got married, and took a honeymoon cruise in the Nancy!—Long afterward he wondered what would have been the outcome of any such fantastic proposal. Would she have listened? At any rate, it amused him at the time to think that there was little difference between a lover and a lunatic.
But he contented himself with saying:
“I fear I am rather light–headed to–day, Miss Dane. Let us appeal to Peter the solid, and draw upon his wide experience. Tell us then, O pilot, what course shall we shape?”
Peter, rapidly restored to the normal by the familiar language coming from the rail of the yacht, glanced up.
“If I was you, sir, I’d ax monkey–face there wot time ‘is missis was due aboard. Mebbe the young leddy would find her bearin’s then, so to speak.”
“Excellent. Do you hear, Cerberus? When does Mrs. Baumgartner return?”
The watchman, taking thought, decided to suspend his taunts.