Orders were always brought forward by a pale young man who was taciturn
even to rudeness, and by that trait seemed to commend himself to Marston
as a safe secretary.
At first, Alma Marston had brought her friends to the bridge. But after
the novelty was gone they seemed to prefer the comfort of chairs astern
or the saloon couches.
For a time the attentive Beveridge had followed her when she came
forward; and then Beveridge discovered that she quite disregarded him in
her quest for information from the tall young man in uniform. She came
alone.
And after that what had happened happened.
She came alone that forenoon. He saw her coming. He had stolen a glance
aft every time he turned in his walk at the end of the bridge. He leaned
low and reached down his hand to assist her up the ladder.
"I have been nigh crazy all morning. But I had to wait a decent time and
listen to their gossip after breakfast," she told him, her face close
to his as she came up the ladder. "And, besides, my father is snappy
to-day. He scolded me last night for neglecting my guests. Just as if
I were called on to sit all day and listen to Nan Burgess appraise her
lovers or to sing a song every time Wally Dalton has his relapse of
lovesickness. He has come away to forget her, you know." She chuckled,
uttering her funny little gurgle of a laugh which stirred in him,
always, a desire to smother it with kisses.
They went to the end of the bridge, apart from the man at the wheel.
"I hurried to go to sleep last night so that I could dream of you, my
own big boy."
"I walked the bridge until after daylight. I wanted to stay awake. I
could not bear to let sleep take away my thoughts."
"What is there like love to make this world full of happiness? How
bright the sun is! How the waves sparkle! Those folks sitting back there
are looking at the same things we are--or they can look, though they
don't seem to have sense enough. And about all they notice is that it's
daylight instead of night. My father and those men are talking about
money--just money--that's all. And Wally has a headache from drinking
too much Scotch. And Nan Burgess doesn't love anybody who loves her, But
for us--oh, this glorious world!"
She put out her arms toward the sun and stared boldly at that blazing
orb, as though she were not satisfied with what her eyes could behold,
but desired to grasp and feel some of the glory of outdoors. If Captain
Mayo had been as well versed in psychology as he was in navigation
he might have drawn a few disquieting deductions from this frank and
unconscious expression of the mood of the materialist. She emphasized
that mood by word.