“Oh,” said he. And again, “Oh!”
Then they fell silent. Her impulse at first was to make talk. She did murmur, “I really ought to be going in.” But he, apparently, found talk unnecessary. And she stayed on, looking now down at the iridescent foam slipping past the black hull, now up into the luminous night.
Then he remarked, casually, “Shall we walk?” And she found herself falling into step with him.
They stopped, a little later, up forward and stood looking out over the forecastle deck.
“Some day I'm going to ask the chief officer to let me go out there,” said she.
“It isn't necessary to ask him,” replied Mr. Brachey. “Come along.”
“Oh,” murmured Betty, half in protest—“really?” But she went, thrilled now, more than a little guilty, down the steps, past hatches and donkey engines, up other steps, under and over a tangle of cables, over an immense anchor, to seats on coils of rope near the very bow.
The situation amounted already to a secret. Mrs. Hasmer couldn't be told, mused Betty. The fact was a little perplexing. But it stood.
Neither had mentioned Mrs. Hasmer. But now he said:
“I was rude to-day, of course.”