Madame Ray darted behind him, exclaiming:
“Do help me to escape them. I do not wish to be interviewed. I belong to private life now.”
“Mr. Dawn, will you kindly help the madame to escape the newspaper men, and I will lead Miss Dawn ashore,” exclaimed Frederick Foster, coolly drawing Cinthia’s arm through his, and rushing forward with the tumultuous throng as the gang-plank was thrown out.
Oh, what a Babel of noise and confusion! but through it all Cinthia could hear the young man whispering ardent words to her, vowing that the past week had been the happiest of his life, that he adored her, and would ask no greater joy than to walk with her through life arm in arm as now, heedless of the rushing, jostling throng.
Would she give him one little word of hope to live [on] till they met again at Newport? He knew he was presumptuous, but love was his excuse.
“Oh, you must not talk to me any more like this. I—I——” began Cinthia in confusion; but just at that moment they stepped on terra-firma, and came face to face with a young man waiting there with a lady on his arm, at sight of whom Foster whispered to his companion:
“My aunt and cousin, the Varians!”
Sky and earth, and sea seemed to jumble and blend together in Cinthia’s confused consciousness as her startled eyes met the equally surprised ones of Arthur Varian.
CHAPTER XXIII.
“I CAN NOT LOVE AGAIN!”
It was the most surprising and unwelcome rencontre in the world, that meeting between those four, Everard Dawn and his daughter and Mrs. Varian and her son.