There was a pause after this. Then followed more inaudible talk on the part of Mr. Harland, and while we yet waited to gather further fragments of the conversation, he suddenly threw open the saloon door and called to us to come in. We at once obeyed the summons, and as we entered he said in a somewhat excited, nervous way:—
"I must apologise before you ladies for the rather doubting manner in which I received my former college friend! He IS Rafel Santoris—I ought to have known that there's only one of his type! But the curious part of it is that he should be nearly as old as I am,—yet somehow he is not!"
I laughed. It would have been hard not to laugh, for the mere idea of comparing the two men, Santoris in such splendid prime and Morton Harland in his bent, lean and wizened condition, as being of the same or nearly the same age was quite ludicrous. Even Catherine smiled—a weak and timorous smile.
"I suppose you have grown old more quickly, father," she said—"Perhaps
Mr. Santoris has not lived at such high pressure."
Santoris, standing by the saloon centre table tinder the full blaze of the electric lamp, looked at her with a kindly interest.
"High or low, I live each moment of my days to the full, Miss Harland,"—he said—"I do not drowse it or kill it—I LIVE it! This lady,"—and he turned his eyes towards me—"looks as if she did the same!"
"She does!" said Mr. Harland, quickly, and with emphasis—"That's quite true! You were always a good reader of character, Santoris! I believe I have not introduced you properly to our little friend"—here he presented me by name and I held out my hand. Santoris took it in his own with a light, warm clasp—gently releasing it again as he bowed. "I call her our little friend, because she brings such an atmosphere of joy along with her wherever she goes. We persuaded her to come with us yachting this summer for a very selfish reason—because we are disposed to be dull and she is always bright,—the advantage, you see, is all on our side! Oddly enough, I was talking to her about you the other night—the very night, by the by, that your yacht came behind us off Mull. That was rather a curious coincidence when you come to think of it!"
"Not curious at all,"—said Santoris—"but perfectly natural. When will you realise that there is no such thing as 'coincidence' but only a very exact system of mathematics?"
Mr. Harland gave a slight, incredulous gesture.
"Your theories again," he said—"You hold to them still! But our little friend is likely to agree with you,—when I was speaking of you to her I told her she had somewhat the same ideas as yourself. She is a sort of a 'psychist'—whatever that may mean!"