HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Wingham Advance-Times, 1938-12-22, Page 9WINGHAM, ONTARIO, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 22nd, 1938
Chapter I
“I suppose she'll keep on living
’here, Surely she couldn’t expect us
to give her a home/’ The voice was
thin and slightly querulous. That
would be ’’Aunt” Amelia,
"No," came the answer. '“It isn’t
■as if she were kin to us. But what if
.John sells the place?"
Star Sandringham, pausing a mo
ment in the hallway, did not wait to
hear any more. She knew they were
talking about her and the little house
—and John Barrett—who had not ev
en come home for hi's father’s fun-
■eral,
Going to the dining/room door she
noticed with surprise that, the table
was set as for a feast. Ezra Barrett’s
■.relatives had straggled back to the
house after the services. Now they
'Were waiting like cormorants for any
scraps of property that they might
•quarrel about and keep for themselv
es. Two of the neighbors bustled
.around passing huge platters of boil
ed ham, potato salad and mashed tur
nips. Ezra’s sister, Amelia, who had
■come “all the way from New Jersey"
■sat down without urging and filled the
plate of a snuffling little girl, whose
relationship Star could not yet under
stand, although it had been explained
to her. Ezra’s nieces, Mamie and
Lucille, joined their aunt. The oth
ers filed in and took their places
speaking, in subdued murmurs. Am
elia looked up, spoke reprovingly:
“You should eat something, Star.”
Star turned abruptly and ran up to
her room. Elow could they eat? Al
though “Uncle Ezra had not actu
ally been her relative she had come
to love the gentle old man who was
so kindly dnd tolerant of the selfish
group downstairs. He had been part
of her small world—a world peopled
now only by the shadowy figures of
her library books. Even the house,
mow strangely quiet except for the
hum of voices downstairs, was no
longer a part of that world.
It was .a tiny house even for Mil
lord where none of the houses were
-pretentious. Yet to Star its vine-cov-
■ered porch, its small rattling wind
ows and narrow carpeted stairway,
and even the worn velvet brocade on
-the sitting room chairs- had meant
Lome. Every morning for three years
«he had run 'down its rose-bordered
■path,to the village library where she
-worked. And every night, after the
last reluctant child had been shooed
out of the door and the last grimy
Look replaced on its shelf, she had
hurried back to get supper for Ezra
Barrevtt and herself.
She had come there, a small fright
ened child of eight, to live with Ezra
Barrett and his wife who had died
•three years ago. It all seemed faint
like the old tintypes up in the attic
•which were now only shadowsy out
lines of real people.
Impatiently she walked over to the
window of her room. It looked ac
ross at’ the Bentley place, a solid
’house in a square patch of lawn,
wasn’t even a view! She turned slow
ly and caught'a glimpse of herself , in
•the mirror.
A clear oval face — pale and thin
•now with strain — above a shapeless
but serviceable dress of black from
which the white collar had been re
moved that morning. Eyes that were
'brilliant, intensely blue and unexpect
edly eager. A curving sensitive
mouth' that looked as if it hardly
knew how to lafugh. A mass of wavy
‘brown hair pulled back unbecoming
ly into a braided bun.
Suddenly Star detested that image.
■She wanted it gay and young and
10vely_as it could be. She wanted
it drenched in sunlight, decked in
flowers, surrounded by youth and
laughter. No girl of twenty should
be standing, tired and drab, in a
■house of death!
Later, when the relatives come in
to the sitting room, flushed ‘and re-
•plete, Star stood passively by the
■window waiting for them to go. v
“Will you keep on living here?”
■Star looked briefly at the speaker,
•a thin, sharp-eyed little man who had
•said he was Ezra’s • nephew. She
■could- not remember his name. ,
“I—I’m going away for a’ while.'1
It was better not to tell them where,
she thought. “Then-—well, I don’t
know."
“Queer, isn’t it," Amelia broke in,
■“John not coming to his father’s fun
eral?" . . ’
“Maybe lie didn’t get the message,”
Mamie said slowly. “That address
we had was five years pld. Ships
move around so she ended vaguely.
"He must have a wonderful job,”
Lucille said' dreamily.
“It must be!" Star could not keep
from saying it, “Such a wonderful
job that it keeps him away from his
father and all his obligations — and
lets a girl who’s no kin to him sup-
port someone he should take eate
of,"
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“You had. a home,” Amelia remind
ed her. “You seem to forget that if
the Barretts hadn’t taken you in
when your father died—” she paused
significantly, then add “you’ve had a
job too. You should even have been
able to save.”
. “I did some extra work tutoring
the last three • summers," Star said
dully. "I have five hundred dollars."
In stantly she knew she had said
the wrong thing. Their visions of
what extra money would mean to
their none too prosperous homes
were evident in their quick suggest
ions and greedy glances.
“I think you’d better come and
stay with u.s,” Amelia said, recovering
quickly. “You ought to come in
time for Thanksgiving, We could let
you have a room with our Mabel at
much less than it would cost you
here by yourself. Then you could
take up something like — like sten
ography. Youkl have a much better
chance to get a good position if you
were living in a city.”
"You ought to take out insurance,”
the nephew said eagerly. “If you put
that money into an endowment pol
icy . .” ,
“Nonsense,” Lucille contradicted
sharply. “With Star’s child training
experience, she ought to open a sum
mer camp right here in this house.. I
could arrange to be here by Christ
mas and help her get ready for next
season. And Lucy could keep the
other children company. Come here,
dear." Star realized that this must
be mother and daughter.
She had a wild longing to laugh;
to see them turn to her in shocked
amazement while she shook with
mirth from her head to her toes. But
she did not dare — she was too per
ilously close to tears."
“You’re very kind — all of you.”
Her voice was steady, anyway. “But
I’m so tired of M.ilford and diets and
taking care of people. I’d like to.
talk — just once — to somebody my
own’age. I want some fun — oh,
don’t you understand? I’ve never
been able to dance and play and real
ly live!”
They were looking at her as if she
were insane!
“Why shouldn’t I want what every
other young girl has?” Star demand
ed hotly. “Why should John Barrett
go off and work as he pleases and
see all the beautiful exciting things
in the world while I grub through a
lifetime?”
“But, Star!” Aunt Amelia finally
found her voice. “John is a man!
You couldn’t expect him to stay'
home and nurse his father.”
“No, of .course not,” Lucille agreed.
"Really, Star—” she interrupted her
self and bent down as her daughter’
held out a brightly colored folder.
“What is it, dear? What do you want
to show Mummy?"
Star looked at them, transfixed.
Where had the child discovered that
cruise leaflet? They would know
now! She made a feeble effort to
take it, but Lucille was staring at it,
her eyes screwed up in an effort to
see it better. She began to read aloud
with little gasps:
" ‘Haiti —■ the mystery island. Sail
into Springtime at Christmas — on
a cruise of the Adventurous Spanish
Main! You will see urchins scamp
ering about in tatters—or without a
stitch on. Their coal-black little bod
ies glisten in the bright sunshine . .!”
She paused a moment for emphasis,,
fastening her eyes on the girl, “Real
ly, Star!"
“You — you’re actually going?
And you weren’t going to tell us?’’’
exclaimed Aunt Amelia. ■
“1 don’t mind telling you," Star;
Stood proudly now, secure in the1
knowledge that they could not stop
her. "But I won't argue about it. I
—I have to go! I’m going to have
the first real Christmas I’ve ever had
in my life. I’m going-to pack all the
fun and happiness I’ve missed,. into
three short Weeks,"
They stared at her incredulously,
unable to speak. Star’s eyes were
shining like the stars for which she
was named.
“I’m sailing next week on the Car
tagena. I’m going to dance on deck
under a big tropic moom I’m going
to walk under the very gate Henry
Morgan came through three hundred
A Complete Novel by Eleanor Browne
years ago. I’m going to see flowers
like flames, water like sparkling gold,
and hear the bells of a city that was
buried by an earthquake because its
people were selfish and cruel and
wicked — and, she added a trifle
smugly, “I’m sailing on the very
same boat with Doctor John Ken
neth Barrett!”
Amelia stood up abruptly. “I’m
glad my poor dear brother didn’t
hear this," she said in a voice that
quavered with shock and anger.
“Come, Mamie, I guess good advice
would be waster in this house."
Chapter II
Doctor Kent Barrett came reluct
antly into the. Captain’s quarters.
The Cartagena lay at anchor in New
York harbor; -the last passenger was
still arguing at the customs.
"You sent for me, sir?”
“Yes, yes! Come in, Kent.” The
Captain’s ruddy face positively glow
ed with geniality. “I understand we
are to reserve the bridal suite for
you next trip. The Christmas cruise.”
Keht’s jaw tightened. His dark ey
es looked unhappy.
“Well, you see, sir—”
“It’s a long step you’re taking, my
boy.” The Captain grinned facetious
ly. “What are you going to do about
all those pretty senoritas at Barran-
quilla?” 1
Kent Barrett tried to grin, baring
even teeth that looked startlingly
white against a tropic tan.
"They—they won’t be lonesome.”
Captain Porter looked shocked, but
he tried to pass it over lightly. “Well
—perhaps the new wife will have
something to say about that eh?”
"Yes, sir — I mean — no, she
won’t. The fact is ..."
The Captain’s face had settled once
more into its- usual heavy frowning
lines.
"Doctor Barrett, you’re behaving
very, strangely. If you hadn’t been
on this line for three yearS I’d think
you had already begun to celebrate.”
“I’m not getting married, sir."
Kent Barrett’s’eyes were fixed on the
small locker under the Captain’s
built-in couch. “The young lady has
changed her mind.”
"What? Well, I suppose—damn it
all, man, do you want me to congrat
ulate you, or what?”
"Nothing, sir, Thank you — for
your good, wishes."
"But they aren’t needed, eh? You
know, Kent, frankly I’m disappoint
ed. It’s much better for a young
man to be tied down somewhere. I
don’t presume to dictate to you, but
it seems to me this thing has hap
pened before. What’s the trouble?”
"It’s always been the same girl,
'sir,” Kent replied stiffly.
The Captain stood up as a gesture
of dismissal. “I suppose there’s no
thing to be said. It isn’t always the
same girl here on shipboard. I don’t
meddle with these things, Kent. You
have always been equal to any emerg
ency. But I do insist that you be
more circumspect on the Christmas
cruise. We don’t want any unpleas
ant gossip. Good day, sir.”
A slow painful red spread smooth
ly over Kent’s face, starting at his
ears and traveling rapidly down his
neck to be lost in the spotless shirt
collar that encircled it, He saluted
stiffly and stopped automatically as
he- went through the door.
The bay looked particularly oily
and muddy. Fog httng in a dirty veil
over the tal'l spires of New York..
That was- a strange thing for the
Captain tp say, Kent was thinking.
So, he should be more circumspect,
should he? After all, a doctor could'
not .ignore sick women. A doctor
didn’t book the passengers, did’, lie?
Perhaps Gloria was right. On land
there might be some chance. He pull-
cd out the crumpled note and looked
at it again.
“Darling, won’t you reconsider and
try to get land practice? Let's talk
it over before you start on the
Christmas cruise. I can’t believe
you’d want it to be our honeymoon
with this big question still unsettled
between us.
« Gloria.”
The scent she used came up to him
from the pale’ grey sheet with its
sprawling: signature across the top
Gloria Churchill, It caught at his
throat as if Gloria stood before him,
tiny and rounded, her hair glinting
softly. She was too helpless — so
fragrantly feminine.
But a practice on land. That would
mean an end to all his experiments
with strange tropic fevers and the
hidden germs that caused them. It
would mean treating a group of neur
otic women with headaches and colds
and imaginary pains.
Resolutely he clamped his jaw and
tore the note into fragments. Gloria’s
price was too high. That was over.
There was no reason to talk about
it. He had nothing to say to Gloria
or to any other woman. And on the
Christmas cruise he’d retire every
night to his cabin and stay there.
Let the whole boat get sick —. well,
anyway, the women passengers. Un
pleasant gossip, indeed! The paper
scraps fluttered down to the small
waves lapping hungrily against the
ship’s side.
The purser, passing on his way
aShore, saluted smartly and then'mur
mured under his breath, “Hail the
happy bridegroom!”
* * *
Gloria Churchill looked thought
fully at the calendar. Tuesday night.
Kent Barrett had been in town two
whole days and hadn’t phoned her.
The Cartagena would pull out again
Thursday noon. Was Kent actually
going to sail without seeing her?
Her hair was tightly in place under
its wave net. A film of cold cream
covered her face and she patted it
gently with her hands while she con
sidered the possiblity that Kent
might not call up, at all. Of course
that would happen. It couldn’t!
Kent was probably sulking because
she had again postponed the date of
their wedding. He would come
around.
Gloria’s slanted eyes looked know
ingly at her reflection in the mirror.
Kent Barrett was stubborn, but he
was also blindly in love with her.
And she — well, she needed a man
like that — tall, a little grim — as
the perfect-background for fyer soft,
fluttery type of beauty.' But there
was no point in having a husband
who was away most of the time.
That detail had to be settled. That
—and money. There were so many
little "necessities” Gloria required.
And how simple it would be if Kent
only weren’t so stupid. A few years
in New York — a young doctor wo
men were, crazy about, as Kent, the
big silly, never realized — and life
would be just perfect.
Gloria wiped the cream from her
face and began applying one of the
lotions. Perhaps she .shouldn’t have
called off the wedding in a note. Per
haps she should have waited until he
came ashore, ifntil his arms were ar
ound her. Perhaps . . ,
The telephone shrilled a summons
and Gloria almost dropped the jar of
cream. Kent!
"Hello.” Her voice was gentle,
moody — almost as if she had been
crying.
"Gloria?”
It was not Kent. She had an im
pulse to slam down the receiver, but
thought better of it. “Who is it?”
“Jack Coates. You know. I met
you at the Whitmans’ two nights
ago. > I’ve been trying to get in touch
with you; Hello — Hello?”
"I’m here.”' She recognized that
slightly affected, drawl now. Jack
Coates —• lie was? a geologist, or
something like that. He had been
amusing for one evening, but he was
not worth her time..
“Of course I remember you,” she
said into the phone.- “We liad' stick'-
a delightful! time'.”’
” “How about repeating: it tonight?”
“I’m so sorry.” The answer was
crisp, definite. “I have an engage
ment.”'
“Tomorrow night?’’
She didn’t want to offend’ hint if
he knew important people like the
Whitmans. Yet she must be ready
when Kent called. A sudden inspir
ation gave a hole of sincerity to her
voice. “Really, I’m sorry, but I’ll be
packing. I'm sailing oh the Cartag
ena Thursday,"
Gloria's mind was already racing
fat ahead. Why not sail? Why not
surprise Kent Barrett by going on
the Christmas cruise? Three whole
'weeks! Surely she could bring him
around to her way of thinking in that'
length of time, »
Coates’ “I’ll be seeing you” reach
ed her ears faintly. “Good-bye," she
said absently. She was thinking of
Kent Barrett. If Kent proved dif
ficult — well there were situations
that could be contrived.
Chapter III
Jack Coates stalked back and forth
among the dusty specimens of the
curator’s office, pausing occasionally
to stare through the window with in
different eyes. He was angry, but he
had no intention of showing it.
“You really think this museum idea
is feasible, Coates?” Doctor Marsden
looked up, but the younger man had
a feeling that Marsden’s eyes looked
through and beyond him. Damn him,
Coates thought, he’s as dry as his
lectures!
“I’m so sure of it I’ll never ask to
head another expedition if this one
doesn’t work out.”
"But the West Indies!” Marsden’s
eyes were on the brick wall outside
the window. There had been a time
when he had dreamed of living and
working in brilliant sunshine. It was
hard to see younger men walk in and
take what you had planned for years
—and lost.
"Crowded with tourists,” Coates
said promptly. “Sometimes as many
as a thousand passengers in port in
one .day. A museum down there
would soon pay for itself.”
“Yes, yes. I’ve heard your argu
ments,” Marsden said dryly, “We
won't go over that again. Here’s
your check. The schooner will be
waiting at Kingston. Perhaps there
is enough primitive stuff down there
to make a museum worth while. I
hope, since you’re so keen about it,
that there is. But even then the
work will have to wait a while after
this expedition unless you can inter
est private capital.”
Yes, you’d like that, Coates
thought. But his thin sensitive face
did not betray him. "I realize that
of course, sir,” he agreed promptly.
Certainly he realized, he thought
grimly as his heels echoed along the
marble corridor. Unless he could
bring financial support to the mus
eum it would never be built. But if
he could only get it on the way, get
a share in those profits — nothing
more would be needed! Just sit back
and collect from the tourists, . . .
Did that girl he had met at the
Whitmans’, Gloria Churchill, have
enough? Probably not. Anyway, she
was interested in the future — her
future — not the past, even of a pir
ate island. Odd that she was going
down there. What a pleasant sur
prise she would get when she saw
him aboard!
Jack Coates was smiling as he pull
ed his overcoat closer and bent his
head against the wind. After all,
trouble was months away. Meanwhile
the Cartagena would have many pas
sengers — women, passengers.
* * *
♦ I wonder what she will look like in
shorts?
The question bobbed unbidden into
Star’s'mind as the woman standing
before her leaned over to talk into
the window of the purser's office.
Ample hips tightly swathed in tweed
were in Star’s immediate line of vis-
sion- Then she glanced away and in
stantly forgot everything save the
otic vital fact: She was aboard the
Cartagena!'
Her trunk even now was being tak
en to her cabin, Too bad she bad' Hot
been able to afford' a new orte. This
one was so ol'd-fasliioned' and shabby.
But in a* moment’ now she could’ for-
get about trunks. The stateroom key
would be in her hand, the whistle
would blow, the boat, would throb
into life, the skyline would slide
away ....
She felt the mahogany rati with a
furtive, caressing gesture. Her ship!
It Was easy to understand why a cap
tain would love every inch of it. Star
thought she had never seen anything
so charming as the little green saloon
with its ‘funny round opening that
looked tight down into the dining
room. The decks were broad, much
Broader than she had expected. They
were twice as wide as the porch back
home, She had already been? up to
the boat deck. It gave her a queer
shivery feeling to stand beside a life
boat and wonder if she would have
to get into it,
“I can’t sleep on the port side,” the
woman at the office was complain
ing.
"You are Mrs, Jenkins?” The pur
ser’s smile was as ready as ever. As
she nodded he continued placatingly,
“Your cabin is starboard, as you re
quested, Mrs. Jenkins. The ship is
turned around,” he added hastily.
"Probably that’s why you thought—”
“But I know ships! I go on a trip
every year." Mrs. Jenkins’ voice
grew slightly nasal with excitement.
“Mr. Jenkins and I have always clos
ed up the house and traveled for a
month in the winter time. And we’ve
always insisted on the starboard—”
"Pardon me, please,"
A woman in deep mourning push
ed past Star and Mrs. Jenkins. The
latter turned to protest, but as she
saw the black veil her plump face be
came sympathetic. Star, studying the
woman’s profile, saw traces of the
loveliness it had once known, Now
it was flattened out curiously as if
the year themselves had straightened
the curves of her mouth, pulled at the
corners of her eyes and combed
coarse fingers through her dark hair.
"Yes, Miss Cattrell?”. The purser’s
manner reminded Star of those gen
tle young men who had hovered ar
ound the house the morning of Uncle
Ezra’s funeral. Uncle Ezra wouldn't
have liked them. But he would have
loved this—the smell of the sea—ad
venture—a glimpse of his son.
Doctor Kent Barrett! Star’s lip
curled scornfully as she remembered
how impressive the name looked in
the. list of ship’s officers. So she had
dropped the John and shortened the
Kenneth to Kent, had he? Probably
the name “Kent” was more in keep
ing with his social ambitions. Well,
here was one person who would look
behind that suave sophisticated mask
he was wearing. She would make him
uncomfortable enough.
•Star tried to bolster up her wan
ing determination. It had been easy
to imagine, easy to plan back in the
still, placid existence of Milford how
she would confront Uncle Ezra’s
heartless son and make him thor
oughly ashamed of himself. But here
on the Cartagena she felt a little
frightened, a little lost. Besides, it
seemed such a pity to let dark, re
sentful thoughts intrude on this glor
ious trip.
Only when I see him, she promised
herself sternly, will I think about the
years I've been assuming his obliga
tions while he has had all this. The
rest of the time 1’11 forget everything
and enjoy every minute.
"I must insist upon a table alone,”
Miss Cattrell was saying slowly as if
she begrudged the • necessity of
words.
“Captain Porter will regret not
having you at his table,” the purser
returned, still with an air of condol
ence, "but it will be arranged, of
course.”
"I wanna airplane! I won’t go on
this ship! T won’t go!”
Star saw a little boy dragged over
the brass-bound threshold, his face
screwed up as if he were about to
explode. The man who accompanied
him, obviously his father, looked dis
tinguished but stuffy, Star thought.
Certainly he had never tried to man
age a child before. His technique
was all wrong, and’ his expression was
one of self-conscious agony, It was
the- first’ time he had ever been face
to face with tantrums, Star judged.
She walked over to the door as if
she were going out and with a bright
smile glanced down at the youngster.
“I like airplanes too,” she she said
in a casual tone. "But I’ve never
been up in one. Have you?”
Brown eyes looked at her scorn
fully. "We came in one and—-”
Before he could go on Star said
quickly, "Did you?” Her voice
throbbed with excitement. "Did you
meet Jimmie, the plane boy?"
The child shook his head slowly.
"Perhaps you’re Jimmie, the plane
boy?”
"I am not! I’m B, Stuart Under
wood, Third."
"How do you do. My name is Star
Sandringham."
The child’s father at Star's nod
edged over to the purser’s office and
talked rapidly in low tones while she
launched into a ‘'story that involved
Jimmie, a non-existent plane and a
terrific crash, all within the space of
three minutes, Stuart listened un
convinced, but spellbound. When his
father came back he was saying to
Star:
“That’s a whopper. That’s no true
story.”
“Stuart!” His father’s shocked re
proof was accompanied by an apol
ogetic glance at the charming creat
ure who had rescued him.
"Of course it isn’t,” Star admitted.
"But doesn’t it make a lovely story?"
Stuart was -unaware he was being
led away as he pondered this phen
omenon — a grown-up who would
tell a story and ask you to enjoy it
simply ns a. story.
Chapter IV
Star wandered out on deck. She
had lost her place at the purser’s
window. Anyway, it didn’t matter
whether she went to her cabin right
now—or ever! She wondered if she
would want to sleep tonight, or to
morrow night. How could anyone
miss a minute of it? How could any
one ask to be alone, like that woman
in black?
The crowd pushed her toward the
railing,,but she didn’t mind. It was
fun to feel you were part of it, to
listen to excited conversation and the
music of the band. She hadn’t even
thought of asking anyone to see her
off. Ezra’s relatives would not have
come. She wouldn’t have wanted
them to. And she knew no one else.
Yet it was a little lonely.
She would have liked to ask some
one if she had made a wise choice in
her clothes. This beige three-piece
suit that had cost so much — was it
becoming? Would it wear well? Had
she been foolish to buy it because the
fur was so soft against her throat?
Was it too plain? Did her hat. look
too gay—too extreme?
She had hesitated a long time
about that hat. Its very impertinence
had seemed to typify this defiant ges
ture she was making toward life. Just
a wisp of brown felt, as smart as her
fur collar, with a single perky feath- .
er. Finally she had bought it because
it was a hat that fairly cried out to
be taken on a glorious trip. It had
nestled on her newly sorn curls as
if it promised: “You won't be sorry.
Adventure is on the way!”* * * JS
Doctor Kent Barrett paced rest
lessly along the boat deck. In fifteen
minutes they would shove off on the
Christmas cruise — the cruise that
was to have been his honeymoon! He
tried to laugh, but the queer leaden
feeling in his heart refused to be
laughed away. Why didn’t they
start? He glanced at his wrist watch.
Only a few more minutes and it
would be impossible to telephone
Gloria Churchill. In five minutes he
would have no chance, to tell her lie
was sorry, to beg her wildly to
change her mind and come. His-
hands clenched as he paused near the
railing. His romance with Gloria was
over. It had to be over. Everything
would be easy if he could’ only get
away without making a fool of him
self. Why didn’t they push off?
His heart pounded as the tip of a
feather showed above the companion
way. It might be Gloria. No, it
wasn’t, Kent whistled with relief and
turned away — and then found him
self looking back again at a girl with
incredibly blue eyes and an unfor
gettable look of wonder on her face
— like that of a child on Christmas
morning.
Covertly -he studied her as she
stood looking at the pier below, un
consciously on tiptoe as if her eager
ness to see everything could not be
restrained. Her fawn-colored suit
and long coat clung jealously to ber
slender figure. The ridiculous hat
swept upward with the feather and
gave him a glimpse of her profile, A
finely chiseled nose, firm chin, a
cheek softly curved and warmly tint
ed. He was thinking: Why, I have
never seen anything more beautiful,
more radiantly wistful and young.
Just at that moment the whistle
above, their heads emitted three
mighty blasts. She turned, She ex
claimed, Kent thought, although he
could not hear. Her eyes were such
a brilliant blue. They made him
think of morning in Cartagena, or
the water at dusk when it held the
deepened color of the sky.
"Frightened?” His voice, above the
whistle, was almost a shout in the
sudden stillness.
"No, I’m not afraid,"
She looked at him quietly, frankly*
as if she wanted to know him. He
was grateful. It would be t’ragic to
have this glamorous creature turn Im-