“Yes,” he said, “but come away from the crowd,” and with that he led her towards the stern of the boat. For a moment Miss Earle seemed to hold back, but finally she walked along by his side firmly to where they had stood the night before. With seeming intention Morris tried to take his place beside her, but Miss Earle, quietly folding her cloak around her, stood on the opposite side of the flagpole, and, as if there should be no forgetfulness on his part, she reached up her hand and laid it against the staff.
“She evidently meant what she said,” thought Morris to himself, with a sigh, as he watched the low, dim outlines of the hills around Queenstown Harbour, and the twinkling lights here and there.
“That is the tender coming now,” he said, pointing to the red and green lights of the approaching boat. “How small it looks beside our monster steamship.”
Miss Earle shivered.
“I pity the poor folks who have to get up at this hour of the night and go ashore. I should a great deal rather go back to my state-room.”
“Well, there is one passenger I am not sorry for,” said Morris, “and that is the young woman who has, I am afraid, been saying something to you which has made you deal more harshly with me than perhaps you might otherwise have done. I wish you would tell me what she said?”
“She has said nothing,” murmured Miss Earle, with a sigh, “but what you yourself have confirmed. I do not pay much attention to what she says.”
“Well, you don’t pay much attention to what I say either,” he replied. “However, as I say, there is one person I am not sorry for; I even wish it were raining. I am very revengeful, you see.”
“I do not know that I am very sorry for her myself,” replied Miss Earle, frankly; “but I am sorry for her poor old father, who hasn’t appeared in the saloon a single day except the first. He has been sick the entire voyage.”
“Her father?” cried Morris, with a rising inflection in his voice.