“I didn’t think she cared—that much.”
“It appears she did. Everybody knew that except you, and sometimes I think you suspected it, but were afraid to take a chance. If you had your chance all over again, would you marry Maisie?”
“Mel,” Dan admitted wretchedly, “any man is a fool to marry out of his class. Tamea is a wonderful woman, but——”
“I understand, my friend. It requires something more than love to sustain love. Is Riva on your nerves?”
Dan raised his haggard face from his hands. “Well, I am beginning to understand Muggridge a little better lately,” he confessed. “And, unlike poor Muggridge, I have nothing spiritual to cling to. Nothing but my sanity, and sometimes when I reflect that all of my future life will be like this——”
“Ah, but it will not continue to be like this,” Mellenger interrupted gently. “Tamea will see to that.”
“Tamea is a lovely, wonderful child of nature. She is happy here—so happy, Mel, that she will never, never be able to understand why I cannot be happy, too.”
“As usual,” Mellenger growled, “you continue to give abundant proof of your monumental asininity and masculine ego. I have here a letter which Tamea wrote Maisie three months ago, via the schooner Doris Crane.”
Dan could only stare at him. “You know the Doris Crane, of course?” Mellenger queried.
“She came here three months ago for the accumulated trade. I was pig-hunting on the northern coast of the island at the time, and missed her. Mel, what could Tamea possibly have to write Maisie about?”