The look she cast upon him was not lost upon Leith.
"Good heavens!" he muttered. "What has the poor chap done? She's not in love with him, that's certain, but that she has got it in for him for some reason is equally certain."
But he could not follow, even if he had so desired, as Mrs. Chalmers was addressing some questions to him; but he saw Jessica stagger against her young cavalier as the yacht lurched, saw him place his arm about her, and then—they disappeared.
Had he been able to penetrate behind that portière, he might have seen the wretched boy holding her hands in an impassioned clasp, his eyes strained and blood-shot as he gazed into her smiling ones.
"It is utter folly, utter madness," he was saying. "I can't give you up. I tell you I love you. Pouf! How empty the word sounds. I feel like a man drunk with opium in your presence. Jessica, you must be my wife!"
She smiled daintily, charmingly.
"Your wife!" she exclaimed, lightly. "You can't mean that, when you once said that it was as much as a man's reputation was worth to be seen in my box at the opera."
He dropped her hands and flushed crimson.
"How do you know that I did?" he inquired doggedly; then, as he realized that he had practically acknowledged the truth of her statement, he cried passionately: "I was the greatest cad under heaven, and I am willing to give the lie to my words by making you my wife in face of all the world. Jessica, I love you! Will you not listen to me?"
"Even if I were willing to forgive you, think of the folly of it all," she said, laughing at his earnestness. "You know the terms of your father's will. You would have less than ten thousand a year if I became your wife."