Chance

"I wonder why?"

She remained silent. "Perhaps it is because he loves something else

better," I went on. "Come, Mrs. Anthony, don't let me carry away from

here the idea that you are a selfish person, hugging the memory of your

past happiness, like a rich man his treasure, forgetting the poor at the

gate."

I rose to go, for it was getting late. She got up in some agitation and

went out with me into the fragrant darkness of the garden. She detained

my hand for a moment and then in the very voice of the Flora of old days,

with the exact intonation, showing the old mistrust, the old doubt of

herself, the old scar of the blow received in childhood, pathetic and

funny, she murmured, "Do you think it possible that he should care for

me?"

"Just ask him yourself. You are brave."

"Oh, I am brave enough," she said with a sigh.

"Then do. For if you don't you will be wronging that patient man

cruelly."

I departed leaving her dumb. Next day, seeing Powell making preparations

to go ashore, I asked him to give my regards to Mrs. Anthony. He

promised he would.

"Listen, Powell," I said. "We got to know each other by chance?"

"Oh, quite!" he admitted, adjusting his hat.

"And the science of life consists in seizing every chance that presents

itself," I pursued. "Do you believe that?"

"Gospel truth," he declared innocently.

"Well, don't forget it."

"Oh, I! I don't expect now anything to present itself," he said, jumping

ashore.

He didn't turn up at high water. I set my sail and just as I had cast

off from the bank, round the black barn, in the dusk, two figures

appeared and stood silent, indistinct.

"Is that you, Powell?" I hailed.

"And Mrs. Anthony," his voice came impressively through the silence of

the great marsh. "I am not sailing to-night. I have to see Mrs. Anthony

home."

"Then I must even go alone," I cried.

Flora's voice wished me "bon voyage" in a most friendly but tremulous

tone.

"You shall hear from me before long," shouted Powell, suddenly, just as

my boat had cleared the mouth of the creek.

"This was yesterday," added Marlow, lolling in the arm-chair lazily. "I

haven't heard yet; but I expect to hear any moment . . . What on earth

are you grinning at in this sarcastic manner? I am not afraid of going

to church with a friend. Hang it all, for all my belief in Chance I am

not exactly a pagan . . . "