CHAPTER X.
A GIRL’S WILL IS THE WIND’S WILL.
At dinner-time the man in command of the Merrimac was by no means jealous, although Nina had no words nor looks for him. For she was not happy in ignoring him. He knew it,—felt it in every fibre of his being.
What a little beauty she was, with her light head and her fascinating manner,—so lively with him, so quiet and guarded with strangers! He was madly in love with her now, just like a young fool of a fellow. Extravagant terms of adoration floated through his mind, and, with the ardency of twenty, he longed for the time to come when he would be permitted to utter them.
He had loved her for years, but not like this. He had kept her in a secret chamber of his heart, ready to be brought out for contemplation and admiration when he had a moment’s leisure; but now that she was with him in propria persona, lawfully and irrevocably united to him, he was never free from her bewildering presence,—never for one instant. Sleeping, waking, following the exacting demands of his duty, her teasing, roguish face was ever before him; her light eyes gazed steadily into his dark ones; he was haunted by the ringing words, “Mine, mine, yet not mine.”
It was balm to his soul that she did not like the exquisite Delessert. “Probably sees he hasn’t as much brains as I have,” he communed comfortably with himself, “and has taken a grudge against him on account of my warning, although she is too obstinate to acknowledge it. Her attention has left him now,—gone wandering off to the birds and flowers. What is she pondering, I wonder? Some of the deep, unutterable thoughts of girlhood, that she neither could nor would utter.
“The young coxcomb had better take care,” he went on to himself, “or he will get a setback. She has been strictly brought up, my young man, and will resent any familiarity even if the slightest;” and he dropped his exultant eyes to the table-cloth, as Nina quietly and decidedly rebuked her neighbour by a gesture when he offered her the polite and harmless civility of paring a refractory orange.
“You have done for yourself this time, my man,” pursued Captain Fordyce, with satisfaction, as Nina left her place, and, steadying herself by means of outstretched hands laid against the swaying walls and dodging chairs, skilfully piloted herself from the room. She said nothing to her husband as she passed him; but he looked over his shoulder and correctly guessed her destination to be Miss Marsden’s room.
Before knocking at the door she paused, and pressed her face against the cold glass of the port-hole beside it. A sweet and regretful wish for her home came over her. She would like to be with her parents,—no, not her parents,—the two people whom she considered to be her parents. They were very dear to her. She would never forget them, never. ’Steban must take her back to them very soon.