His strength was that of the mind. He was of the order of chivalry. His renunciation would have been well understood by a few men who lived and had their being a thousand years ago. In the America of the early ’90’s, had his undertaking been known, which it was not, nor ever has been till this writing, the heedless majority must have wagged sapient noddles, and cried in chorus, “He is mad!”
A discriminating purser allotted him to the captain’s table, and at dinner that evening he found himself next to a Chilean merchant. This man sat on his left. On the right was an empty chair, which adjoined the commander’s position at the head of the table.
The captain greeted him with the ready camaraderie of the sea.
“My ward has not put in an appearance,” he said, nodding toward the vacant place. “She can’t be ill yet, anyhow; but, like most women, I suppose, she is unpunctual.”
“Is lack of punctuality a feminine failing?” said Power, seeing that he was expected to answer.
The sailor laughed. “It is evident you are not a married man, Mr. Power, or you wouldn’t need to ask,” he said.
“How true!” piped the Chilean, in a singularly high-pitched voice. The people at that end of the table grinned, and the Chilean instantly won a reputation as a humorist. Some days passed before they discovered that he had brought off his only joke thus early in the voyage. He possessed a fund of information about nitrate and guano; but these topics were not popular, so his conversational talent exhausted itself in that one comment. On this occasion it happened to be appropriate.
Power, who had summed him up as a dull dog at a glance, was surveying him with a degree of surprise when he became aware that the missing lady had arrived. She had slipped into her chair quietly, and was apologizing for being late.
“I am usually a most methodical person,” she said; “but I mislaid a key——”