“Impudent puppy,” said Stewart Montague, as he closed the door behind him.
But in this we did not agree with him, not even the man in the corner.
“He is perfectly right,” said that individual, “and I believe that we ought to be ashamed of ourselves. It will only make trouble, and I for one am going to give up the hunt.”
So, from that time forward, the smoking-room collectively made no effort towards the acquaintance of the young ladies. The ladies’ seminary walk, as it was called, took place every morning punctually, and sometimes Mr. Kensington accompanied the walkers. Nevertheless, individual friendships, in spite of everything that either Mr. Kensington or the “dragon” could do, sprang up between some of the young men and some of the girls, but the “dragon” had an invaluable ally in Mr. Kensington. The moment any of the young ladies began walking with any of the young gentlemen on deck, or the moment they seated themselves in steamer chairs together, the urbane, always polite Mr. Kensington appeared on the scene and said, “Miss So-and-So, Mrs. Scrivener-Yapling would like to speak with you.”
Then the young lady would go with Mr. Kensington, while the young gentleman was apt to use strong language and gnash his teeth.
Mr. Kensington seemed lynx-eyed. There was no escaping him. Many in the smoking-room no doubt would have liked to have picked a flaw in his character if they could. One even spoke of the old chestnut about a man who had no small vices being certain to have some very large ones; but even the speakers themselves did not believe this, and any one could see at a glance that Mr. Kensington was a man of sterling character. Some hinted that his wife was the victim of his cruelty, and kept her state-room only because she knew that he was so fond of the “dragon’s” company, and possibly that of some of the young ladies as well. But this grotesque sentiment did not pass current even in the smoking-room. Nevertheless, although he was evidently so good a man, he was certainly the most unpopular individual on board The Tub. The hatred that Stewart Montague felt for him ever since that episode in the smoking-room was almost grotesque.
Montague had somehow managed to get a contrite note of apology and distress to Miss Fleming, and several times the alert Mr. Kensington had caught them together, and asked Miss Fleming with the utmost respect to come down and see Mrs. Scrivener-Yapling.
All in all the “dragon” did not have a very easy time of it. She fussed around like any other old hen who had in charge a brood of ducks.
Once I thought there was going to be a row between Montague and Kensington. He met that gentleman in a secluded part of the deck, and, going up to him, said—
“You old wife deserter, why can’t you attend to your own affairs?”