Faunce took the envelope nervously and tore it open, his face changing perceptibly as he read the despatch.
“Our holiday is prolonged, Diane,” he said, turning to her with a forced smile. “There’s been an accident in the shipyard, the ship won’t be ready to sail for months. Instead of three weeks, it may be three months.”
They had planned three weeks or so in Florida—a touch of the tropical atmosphere before they began the long, hard voyage to the antarctic. To his surprise she showed regret.
“I’m sorry, Arthur, I really want to go soon. To me it’s the great adventure, and now we’ve months to wait! Shall you stay all that time in Florida? I think I’m really a little sorry—even for that!”
He was not. Secretly he had long dreaded the arduous expedition, the overwhelming presence that he must face—face with courage, too, or fall forever in her eyes.
“For my part I’ll be glad of the rest. You see, I’ve been in those frozen wastes, Diane, and I know we’ll need a stock of sunshine to carry with us. And three months in Florida with you seems to me pretty near Paradise!” As he spoke he smiled, and his dark eyes softened with that charm which had gone so far to win her heart. Then he added:—“But if you don’t want warm weather all the time, we’ll come back north before we go. Wasn’t there some place—I think your father suggested a cottage—where we could have at least ten days of peace?”
She thought a moment, her eyes looking dark and dreamy under their black lashes.
“It’s a little house of father’s. We could go there, of course, and I’ll keep house. Yes, I think it would do you good, Arthur. You need rest—I’ve seen how fagged you were. After the heat and sunshine that bit of cool mountain air will brace you up. I should like it, too.”
Again he looked around at her. “Would you rather go there now?”
She shook her head. “I want our bit of Florida—and then this. We can go quite easily, and not be out of reach of your last arrangements, it’s in the Catskills, you know.”