Elithe detected this and rejoined, quickly: “Nobody wanted me to. I did it myself, because——.”
She stopped abruptly, for she could not explain that the money saved was to buy Artie some long stockings, Thede some shoes, and her mother a summer dress. Paul could not read her thoughts, but he was shrewd enough to guess that economy was the reason why the common car was taken instead of the sleeper, and he felt an increased pity for her, as he frequently felt for people who had not all the money they wanted to spend. Thinking to change the conversation, he said: “I was down below, where the trunks are stored, and saw one with your name on it. I knew then you must be on board and hunted till I found you.”
At the mention of her trunk Elithe flushed, feeling in a moment the wide gulf between her trunk and herself and this elegant young man, so different from any one she had ever seen before, unless it were Mr. Pennington, of whom, in some respects, he reminded her. They probably belonged to the same grade of society, with, however, this difference: Paul Ralston had never fought blue demons in the mining camp of Deep Gulch, and on his face there were no signs of the fast life which always leaves its impress. That he was greatly her superior, she was sure, and as his eyes wandered over her from her shabby boots to her shabbier hat, she began to be painfully conscious of her personal appearance, and to wonder what he thought of her. Evidently he was expecting her to speak, and she said at last: “You saw my name on my trunk, but how did you know me?”
He would not tell her that there was something about her which made him think that she and the queer trunk belonged to each other, and he said what was partly true, “Your aunt has your photograph, which I have seen, and I recognized you by that, although you were so pale that I was not quite sure until you opened your eyes; then I knew. There was no mistaking your eyes.”
If he meant this for a compliment it was lost on Elithe. The motion of the boat was affecting her seriously again, and she grew so white that Paul began to feel alarmed, and to wonder what he should do in case she fainted. There were some ladies of his acquaintance on the boat, but he did not like to appeal to them, knowing how they would regard the forlorn little girl with nothing about her to mark her as belonging to their set. She was growing whiter every minute and bluer about her lips. Something must be done.
“You are awfully seasick, arn’t you?” he said, fanning her with his hat. “Let me help you below to the ladies’ cabin, where there are cushions and rocking chairs and bowls and things; but no, I’ve heard mother say it was frightfully close and smelly there. I have it. You stay here and keep your eyes shut. Don’t look at the water. The old boat does bob round like a cork. I never knew it to cut such capers before in the summer. It’s the stiff breeze, I guess.”
Elithe scarcely heard him, or knew when he left her. She was trying to keep down the nausea which was threatening to overmaster her and might have done so but for Paul’s happy thought of lemonade. It always helped him. It would help Elithe, and he brought her a glass of it, with chopped ice and a straw, and made her take it and watched as the color came back to her face, and he knew she was better.
“It was so good, and you are so kind. How much was it?” she asked, giving him back the glass and beginning to open her purse, now nearly empty.
“Nothing, nothing,” he answered, energetically, thinking of the difference between this girl, the scantiness of whose means he suspected, and the many young ladies he knew who would unhesitatingly allow him or any other man to pay whatever he chose to pay for them. “By George, there’s a vacant chair, and I mean to capture it before any one seizes it!” he exclaimed, and, darting off, he soon returned with a chair, in which Elithe was more comfortable than she had been on the hard seat on the side of the boat.
“Lean your head back and shut your eyes; that’s right,” he said, and Elithe lay back and closed her eyes.