Surely, I had given her no fresh cause for dislike or scorn; on the contrary, I was fool enough to cherish a fond hope that my battles in her behalf on this mad night might serve to blot out my shortcomings of the past, if such a thing were possible.
“I must apologize for leaving you even for a minute,” I said, in a low voice.
“It does not matter—you need not apologize. I expected this, and must pay for my weakness in coming,” she replied, coldly.
That was certainly Greek to me; when one has the key, all these puzzles become as simple as the easiest sum in arithmetic, but lacking that, they prove enigmas.
She expected what—that I would neglect her? Surely, she had become captious, indeed, when a minute’s unavoidable delay on my part was to be so keenly resented.
I bit my lips with vexation.
“If you will go with me, Hildegarde, I can show you your stateroom.”
“My stateroom?” she echoed, with just a trace of bitterness in her voice. “I beg that you will not deprive any lady or yourself of an apartment on account of my presence on board. I would not have it for the world.”
“Make your mind easy; no one has occupied this stateroom since I left Algiers, where I had a party of friends aboard.”
“In that case I accept. It will not be for long. I shall expect you to land me at some American port, where I can be in telegraphic touch with New York.”