“I have had some experience—and I am willing.”
“You have been ill, haven’t you?”
“Yes—miss.”
“Could you polish brass, and things like that?”
“I could try. My arms are strong enough. It is only when I walk—”
But she did not let me finish. She left the rail abruptly, and disappeared down the companionway into the after house. I waited uncertainly. The captain saw me still loitering, and scowled. A procession of men with trunks jostled me; a colored man, evidently a butler, ordered me out of his way while he carried down into the cabin, with almost reverent care, a basket of wine.
When the girl returned, she came to me, and stood for a moment, looking me over with cool, appraising eyes. I had been right about her appearance: she was charming—or no, hardly charming. She was too aloof for that. But she was beautiful, an Irish type, with blue-gray eyes and almost black hair. The tilt of her head was haughty. Later I came to know that her hauteur was indifference: but at first I was frankly afraid of her, afraid of her cool, mocking eyes and the upward thrust of her chin.
“My brother-in-law is not here,” she said after a moment, “but my sister is below in the cabin. She will speak to the captain about you. Where are your things?”
I glanced toward the hospital, where my few worldly possessions, including my dress clothes, my amputating set, and such of my books as I had not been able to sell, were awaiting disposition. “Very near, miss,” I said.
“Better bring them at once; we are sailing in the morning.” She turned away as if to avoid my thanks, but stopped and came back.