Suddenly the atmosphere seemed to grow hot and stifling to her. The smile upon her lips drew to a worn line of suffering and care. She pressed her hand upon her heart and answered faintly:
"Let us get into the air. It is close and—and oppressive. Where are the others?"
He looked at her curiously, wistfully, just a trifle reproachfully, then exclaimed contritely:
"What a selfish brute I am! Always forgetting my promises in the light of my own desire. Forgive me, won't you? I promise not to offend again today. Come. The others have all seen the yacht and are on deck. We will join them. You are quite sure that you have forgiven me?"
She looked up at him with a little smile, but it was very pitiful, so filled with misery that it cut him to the heart. His fingers had wandered toward hers, that rested lightly upon his arm, but they dropped at his side, unable to touch her.
In silence they went up the companion-way and on to the deck.
[CHAPTER XXVII.]
With as much majestic grandeur as a small craft can exhibit, the "Eolus" steamed down the river and out into the bay.
The water was not quite so smooth as Carlita had pictured it, but rippled and danced in the sunlight, reflecting the opal tints in blinding splendor. White sails were dotted here and there over the inviting surface, while along the gray, winter-worn shore the golden rifts were piled up, lending a fictitious beauty that was entrancing.