“It’s the greatest joke in the world! You remember that young idiot Anstruther, how he carried on with Miss Hervey at the Egertons’ dinner-party? Well, he saw fit to be thrown out of his berth in the gale that caught us in the Bay—got his wrist sprained and his thumb crushed, or something of the sort. The surgeon on board here and I were at our wits’ end with all the ladies who knew they were dying and insisted on the doctor’s attending them at once, besides the other knocks and injuries that really needed looking after, so we were thankful when Miss Keeling volunteered her aid. She wasn’t ill, while it was as much as I could do to stagger feebly about, holding on to things, and we thought it would be an excellent thing to hand the ladies over to her care—just temporarily, of course. But the ladies, to a woman, refused to have anything to do with her, except Lady Haigh, who wasn’t ill, and we were actually obliged to give her the surgical work, for the men who had got knocked about were too anxious to be looked after to care who did it. You needn’t put on that face”—catching sight of Dick’s look of disgust—“she did it as well as I could have done it myself. But we hadn’t bargained for the effect of her ministrations on the susceptible heart of young Anstruther. He was winged at the first shot, and the next day’s dressing of his hand finished him. Since he has been able to crawl on deck, he has done nothing but follow Miss Keeling about, and when she sits down he sits down too, and looks at her.”
“Young fool,” laughed Stratford. “How lively for Miss Keeling! But what about the other girl?”
“Miss Hervey? Oh, I taxed him with her one day, and he had his answer all ready. He compared himself to Romeo, and one or two other old Johnnies of that sort, and felt that he had quite justified his conduct.”
A shout of laughter followed, in which Dick joined, notwithstanding his disgust. It was not quite clear, even to himself, why he should object so strongly to young Anstruther’s behaviour, but he recognised that he resented it very vigorously. Georgia was nothing to him, of course; but—well, a man who had gone through it all before was sorry to see another young beggar making an ass of himself. He did not know whether to be more angry with the youth for his foolishness, or with Miss Keeling for tolerating it. She did not welcome her youthful adorer’s attentions—he was obliged to confess this when he saw her treatment of him; but why should she allow them to continue when a word to Sir Dugald would have rid her of them? And the boy was really painfully absurd, whether he was taking immediate possession of any empty chair within a radius of a dozen yards from Miss Keeling, or scowling at those who did not give him a chance of getting nearer. Georgia was a favourite on board—there was no denying it. The younger men, with the conspicuous exception of Fitz, looked askance at her, certainly, and avoided her neighbourhood, muttering something about the New Woman; but the elders declared her unanimously to be the most sensible girl on board. “A woman who knows any amount, and never parades it, but is always ready to learn from other people, and doesn’t want to talk dress or scandal, is refreshing to meet,” they said, not troubling themselves to remember that they would have fought their hardest to repress in their own daughters any approach to Georgia’s particular tastes.
To his own sore discomfort of mind, Dick surprised the same inconsistency in himself. It was one of his favourite theories that women who aped men (the term was a comprehensive one, and covered a good many things, from studying art to riding a bicycle), lost by such a course of action any right to help or special courtesy from men. And yet he found himself watching jealously for any chance of moving Miss Keeling’s deck-chair for her, or fetching her a book from the library, without even waiting to be asked. It gave him a curious feeling of gratification to catch the look of pleased surprise on her face, and to receive words of thanks from her lips—to know, in short, that he had made her indebted to him, and that she liked it. Moreover, in spite of his former unhappy experience, he seized every opportunity of conversation with her, and engaged her in endless arguments on the Woman Question—a species of mental activity which Georgia hated at all times, and which was particularly distasteful to her in this case, since only the very surface of the subject could of necessity be touched.
“It is really too bad of Major North to go on teasing Miss Keeling in this way,” said Lady Haigh to Mr Stratford one evening; “and if he only knew it, it is so silly of him, too. Georgia has had plenty of practice in arguments of this kind, for every man she meets begins his acquaintance with her by trying to convert her. She has her most telling pieces of evidence all marshalled ready for use, while Major North has nothing but a few prejudices to support him. The other men all give it up, sooner or later, and decide to accept things as they are, and be thankful, and why doesn’t he?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Stratford. “Perhaps his obstinacy is stronger than theirs, or he thinks he has a right to carry matters further—as a family friend of Miss Keeling’s.”
“As if that would have any influence over her!” said Lady Haigh, scornfully. “Now, I ask you, is it likely that after going through her training as creditably as she has done, she would ever allow herself to be convinced that it had been impossible or improper for her to study medicine? And if she was convinced, do you think any woman worthy of the name would ever allow him to see it?”
“I should think it extremely improbable. But according to North himself, his intention is purely philanthropic. He told me yesterday that he considered it only charity to talk to Miss Keeling as often as he possibly could, in order to protect her from that terrible youngster.”
Lady Haigh went off into a fit of subdued laughter, which would have astonished and wounded Dick if he had known its cause, for he believed honestly in the explanation of his conduct which he had offered, quite unasked, to Stratford. If it did give him a thrill of pleasure when Miss Keeling’s dark eyes were raised to his face, in inquiry or in indignant protest, or even in mirthful contradiction, it was merely because his chivalry was receiving an incidental and wholly unlooked-for reward. He was only doing his duty in protecting a lady of his acquaintance against a youth who had shown himself disposed to take an undue advantage either of her kindness or her thoughtlessness. It did not strike him that Miss Keeling might be quite able to take care of herself under the circumstances, much less that she might prefer to do so; but Fitz Anstruther was made aware of the fact before the voyage concluded.