I did not answer, perhaps because I wanted to make no reply that would commit me to a measure I might be averse to carrying out.
We entered the cabin.
It was brightly illuminated, and if I do say it myself, who perhaps should not, that cabin was about as cozy a den as any one would desire.
There were books in racks, easy-chairs, divans and furnishings that had cost me quite a snug sum of money.
The prevailing tint was old rose, her favorite color, as I knew well.
That person must be hard to please who failed to find solid satisfaction aboard the Wanderer.
Hildegarde threw back the veil that had concealed her face, for which I was more than glad, as I felt eager to look upon her beauty again, strangely eager.
She was no longer deathly pale, as when I carried her in my arms to the quay, or when she crouched in the bottom of the boat while Robbins and myself engaged in our hot little engagement with the enemy; instead, a glow was in her cheeks, a sparkle in her eyes, and though the chase had loosened her golden hair, I never saw her look so distractedly charming as at that moment.
She glanced around, and a wave of color passed over her brow; then I knew she had recognized the choice I had made in the prevailing tint of the hangings, with the full knowledge that it had been her favorite.
Slowly her eyes traveled around, even the pictures not escaping her scrutiny.