“You have reasons of your own for being very anxious to arrive?” suggested the priest archly.
“Nothing special that I know of,” answered Courtesy. “I’m only an ordinary globe-trotter.”
Frankly, she was being sent out to get married. But this, of course, was among the things that are not said. Her father had become tired of supporting a daughter as determined to study art in London as she was incapable of succeeding at it. He had accepted for her a casual invitation from a cousin for a season in the Trinity Islands. The invitation was so very casual that Courtesy had appreciated the whole scheme as a matrimonial straw clutched at by an over-daughtered parent. But her feelings were not hurt. She had bluff, tough feelings.
“How curious that you should have found former friends on board!” said the priest. “How small the world is, is it not?”
“Yes, isn’t it?” assented Courtesy, whose heart always warmed towards familiar phrases. “And so odd, too, him being married within the week like this.”
The priest pricked up his ears so sharply that you could almost hear them click. “So quickly as that?” he encouraged her.
“Yes, when he left the private hotel where he and I were both staying just over a fortnight ago, he was not even engaged. He says such quaint things about it, too. He says he picked her up on the way to Paradise.”
The mention of Paradise confirmed the priest’s worst suspicions. But “Yerce, yerce....” was his only reply to Courtesy.
Late that night the priest walked round and round the deck trying to peer into the face of his god, professional duty. His conscience was as short-sighted as some people’s eyes, and he was often known to pursue a shadow under the impression that he was pursuing his duty.
“Of course I must warn the Captain,” he said. “And that bright young lady who unconsciously gave me the news. And Mrs. Rust, who encourages that misguided young man to talk. And Mrs. Cyrus Berry, who lets her children play with him. As for the woman—I always think that women are the most to blame in such cases.”