“It’s the thought of leaving you.”
She put her hand on his arm caressingly; and then, to take him from his sadness, suggested that they should walk.
Greenwich is half London, half country town; and the unexpected union gives it a peculiar fascination. If the wharves and docks of London still preserve the spirit of Charles Dickens, here it is the happy breeziness of Captain Marryat which fills the imagination. Those tales of a freer life and of the sea-breezes come back amid the gray streets, still peopled with the vivid characters of Poor Jack. In the park, by the side of the labourers, navvies from the neighboring docks, asleep on the grass, or watching the boys play a primitive cricket, may be seen fantastic old persons who would have delighted the grotesque pen of the seaman-novelist.
Bertha and Gerald sat beneath the trees, looking at the people, till it grew late, and then wandered back to the Ship for dinner. It amused them immensely to sit in the old coffee-room and be waited on by a black waiter, who extolled absurdly the various dishes.
“We won’t be economical to-day,” cried Bertha. “I feel utterly reckless.”
“It takes all the fun away if one counts the cost.”
“Well, for once let us be foolish and forget the morrow.”
And they drank champagne, which to women and boys is the acme of dissipation and magnificence. Presently Gerald’s green eyes flashed more brightly, and Bertha reddened before their ardent gaze.
“I shall never forget to-day, Bertha,” said Gerald. “As long as I live I shall look back upon it with regret.”
“Oh, don’t think that it must come to an end, or we shall both be miserable.”