“That’s pretty. Say that again,” said Martin; and she repeated it. At its end he said wistfully, “I thought you and I had our hearts’ desires.” And Judge Barton broke into his short, ironical laugh.
“Don’t tell me my husband can’t make pretty speeches,” said Charlotte.
“He clings to his commercial instincts,” said the Judge, “for he asked as much as he gave.”
“Humph!” grunted Martin. “I am beginning to be proud of myself. I didn’t know I gave or asked. I thought I referred to things that are understood. You are my heart’s desire. All the rest is just working, and being glad when I succeed, and angry when I fail. It’s taking hard knocks and gritting my teeth over them, and saying to myself that I’ll blast what I want out of this universe yet. That’s just living. But I don’t want the world made over. It suits me all right, and I thought it suited you.”
Judge Barton’s gaze was fixed on the vague moving mass of waters before them, but Charlotte fancied she could detect a tense interest in her answer.
“It does not suit me altogether,” she replied slowly, “but if Judge Barton will forgive an exchange of conjugal compliments, I’ll admit that it has come very near suiting me, since I married you. My little burst of this evening is an echo of a former self. It’s the sort of thing I have said so much in my life, that it ripples off my tongue through force of habit whenever anyone strikes a harmonious note. And now I am going in. I am tired and sleepy, and I know that you both want to talk business.”
The Judge rose as she did. Martin remained on the upturned banca. “I’ll follow you before long,” he said, and before she was out of earshot she heard him say, “What do you think the administration is likely to do?” The rest trailed off in an indistinct murmur; but she smiled, knowing that Philippine policy was uppermost.
The next morning Judge Barton found his self-denying spirit in the minority, and a very insistent small voice demanding a reward for five days of self-immolation. Secure in the knowledge of his past will-power, and confident that the next day would see him off the island, he asked himself why there was any need of sacrificing himself to the heat and smells of another day on the launch. He pleaded a headache, ate little to bear evidence to his sincerity, and after breakfast retired to his tent with the honest intention of keeping it till noon at least for very consistency’s sake. Through its open sides, he could view Mrs. Collingwood at her daily routine.
She came out upon the broad veranda, made a minute examination of the flower-pots, pulled a few dead fronds from a great air-fern which hung in one of the windows, and cut a nosegay from the hedge of golden cannas. Afterwards he saw her through the open casement, sitting at her desk, and apparently making entries in an account book. At nine o’clock, six or eight children between the ages of seven and fourteen arrived and squatted down on the veranda. Charlotte came out with an armful of books, which she distributed; and with the help of one of the larger boys, she also brought out an easel on which was a rude blackboard.
At this point the Judge’s resolution weakened. He donned a coat and ambled over to the veranda. To his hostess’s somewhat suspicious, “Better so soon?” he returned an honest confession.