She had submitted to a wandering life on account of the innate sweetness of her disposition, and because she had known no other life. Happy now in the love of her husband and the co-operation and not obstruction of her mother-in-law, she was gathering around her a circle of staunch friends, and her dearest wish now was to attract within this circle the father whose absence was the one dark spot in her life.
Would he ever come? He had partly promised her to do so, but she rejoiced in fear and trembling over the partial promise, for her husband preserved an ominous silence.
Poor unhappy wanderer. There was no quiet haven for him. His bark had been trimmed for stormy seas. He had cast behind him his last anchor to peace and respectability. The dearer his idol to him, the farther must he keep from it, and Justin's heart grew sick as he contemplated future possibilities.
In mid-July the first boating carnival of the season took place. The Casino, already too ornate but re-embellished every year, was a-flutter with flags; guests poured from the hotels, and Captain White, standing on a wharf with eyes screwed up in the bright sunshine, quizzically watched the procession of young men and girls filing into place under the snowy canopies of the white-draped boats.
He waited until the boats like a bevy of white swans went dipping and gliding out to the Bay, then he hurried home as fast as his feet would carry him to relate this latest bit of news to the partner of his bosom.
He found her in a sedate attitude beside one of the open windows of the dining-room. Existence had recently shed its dull gray hues for the late Mrs. Prymmer and present Mrs. White, and had taken on an exquisite tint of rose-colour. She was permeated with bliss, absorbed in admiration for this peculiar man, her sailor-cousin. She was superlatively happy in his presence, superlatively lonely in his absence. He fascinated and entertained her. He was never still, never dull! Was always laughing, joking, teasing,—why, she might be a young girl judging by the amount of attention he paid her, and in placid rapture she listened to his statement that he had taken in the carnival on his way home from the canneries.
"Did it look pretty, Micah?"
"Pretty?—a hundred thousand pretties. I say there is no sight ahead of a flock of girls dressed in white, with flowers in their hair, sitting in boats that look like nests of snow. They might have been angels, Hippy, let right down out of the sky, and our Derrice was the cutest of all. Hello, there's the postman's ring. I'll go," and he rushed from the room.
Mrs. White put down her knitting, and, resting one elbow on the window-sill, enjoyably inhaled the delicious perfume from her garden of roses below.
"Only a newspaper for me, Hippy," said her husband coming back. "Just stop talking for a few minutes, will you?"