No days in my life stand out as full of enjoyment as those first ones off the coast of Lower California and Mexico. Under a perfect sky we sailed serenely. Our fears of Bothwell had vanished. We had shaken him off and held the winning hand in the game we had played with him. The tang of the sea spume, of the salt-laden spray was on our lips; the songs of youth were in our hearts.
Every hour that I was not on duty, except those given to necessary sleep, I spent in the company of Evelyn Wallace. Usually her aunt was also present, and either Blythe or Yeager. That did not matter in the least, so long as my golden-brown beauty was near, so long as I could watch the dimples flash in her cheeks and the little nose crinkle to sudden mirth, or could wait for the sweep of the long lashes that would bring round to mine the lovely eyes, tender and merry and mocking by turns.
Faith, I'll make a clean breast of it. I was already fathoms deep in love, and my lady did not in the least particularly seem to favor me. There were moments when hope was strong in me. I magnified a look, a word, the eager life in her, to the significance my heart desired, but reason told me that she gave the same friendly comradeship to Blythe and Yeager.
It is possible that the absorption in this new interest dulled my perception of external matters. So at least Sam hinted to me one night after the ladies had retired. Mott was at the wheel, a game of solitaire in the smoking room claimed Yeager. Blythe and I were tramping the deck while we smoked.
"Notice anything peculiar about the men to-day and yesterday, Jack?" he asked in a low voice.
We were for the moment leaning against the rail, our eyes on the phosphorescent light that gleamed on the waves.
"No-o. Can't say that I have. Why?"
He smiled.
"Thought perhaps you hadn't. When man's engaged——"
"What!" I interrupted.