After walking away a little, they sat down on a bench at the edge of a narrow square. Neither spoke. There was no need. The rare, bright sun came out to bless them. From the harbor came the hoarse call of a ship’s whistle. Sally wished it were her own, but knew it was not.
Then, suddenly, another sound reached their ears, the rather high-pitched laugh that could only come from the throat of an American.
Sally looked back. It was Erma Stone who had laughed. Her arm was linked in that of an admiral. She had had a shampoo. Her suit was pressed. She “looked like a million” and was beaming on the admiral in a dazzling manner.
“Life is strange,” Sally whispered to her white-haired companion.
“Yes, child,” was the solemn reply. “Very, very strange.”
That night Sally was awakened by the throb of the ship’s motors. They were on their way back.
CHAPTER TWENTY
A GLEAM FROM THE SEA
As she lay there in her berth, still too tired and dreamy to do more than think, all the events of the past few months seemed to pass in review before her mind’s eye.
She saw herself a normal young lady in a normal, slightly humdrum world, going her regular daily rounds, work at the shop during the day, dinner with her father at night, and after that an easy chair and a book, varied now and then by a party or a ride in the moonlight.
“Some life!” she whispered. Had it been? She did not really know. She found herself longing for it now in a dreamy sort of way. But would she be happy there now? She doubted that.