She only pretended to suppose this, as also her expressed indifference about the result.
Though not absolutely anxious, she was yet far from indifferent. It was only when she reflected on Maynard’s coolness to her at the close of the ball, that she endeavoured to feel careless about the consequences.
“Who’s going off in this carriage?” she asked, her attention once more drawn to it by the baggage being brought out.
The cousins, leaning over the balustrade, looked below. Lettered upon a leathern trunk, that had seen much service, they made out the name, “CAPTAIN MAYNARD,” and underneath the well-known initials, “U.S.A.”
Was it possible? Or were they mistaken? The lettering was dim, and at a distance. Surely they were mistaken?
Julia remained with eyes fixed upon the portmanteau. Cornelia ran to her room to fetch a lorgnette. But before she returned with it, the instrument was no longer needed.
Miss Girdwood, still gazing down, saw Captain Maynard descend the steps of the hotel, cross over to the carriage, and take his seat inside it.
There was a man along with him, but she only gave this man a glance. Her eyes were upon the ex-officer of Mexican celebrity, her rescuer from the perils of the sea.
Where was he going? His baggage and the boat-signal answered this question.
And why? For this it was not so easy to shape a response.