The Lady and the Pirate
Page 83"Good morning again, Helena," said I.
She stood looking on out over the water for a time, but, at length,
turned toward me, just a finger up as to stifle a yawn. "Really," said
she, "while I am hardly so situated that I can well escape it or
resent it, it does seem to me that you might well be just a trifle
less familiar. Why not 'Miss Emory'?"
"Because, Helena, I like 'Helena' better."
A slow anger came into her eyes. She beat a swift foot on the deck.
"Don't," I said. "Don't stamp with your feet. It reminds me of a
Belgian hare, and I do not like them, potted or caged."
"I might as well be one," she broke out, "as well be one, caged here
as we are, and insulted by a--a----"
"Yes, a ruthless buccaneer, who has remembered only brutalities."
"And forgotten all amenities? Why, Helena, how could you! And after
all the cork-tipped cigarettes I have given you, and all the
ninety-three I have given your Auntie Lucinda--why look at the empty
message bottles she and you have thrown out into the helpless and
unhelping bayou--a perfect fleet of them, bobbing around. Shan't I
send the boys overboard to gather them in for you again?"
"A fine education you are giving those boys, aren't you, filling their
heads with lawless ideas! A fine debt we'll all owe you for ruining
the character of my nephew Jimmy. He was such a nice nephew, too."
"Your admiration is mutual, Miss Emory--I mean, Helena. He says you
seldom equaled. It is an accomplishment, however, of no special use to
a poor pirate's bride; as I intend you shall be."
She had turned her back on me now.
"Besides, as to that," I went on, "I am only affording these young
gentlemen the same advantages offered by the advertisements of the
United States navy recruiting service--good wages, good fare, and an
opportunity to see the world. Come now, we'll all see the world
together. Shall we not, Miss Emory--I mean, Helena?"
"We can't live here forever, anyhow," said she.
"I could," was my swift answer. "Forever, in just this quiet scene.
Forever, with all the world forgot, and just you standing there as you
kindest."
"That I am not."
"No. I was much mistaken in you, much disappointed. It grieved me to
see you fall below the standard I had set for you. I thought your
ideals high and fine. They were not, as I learned to my sorrow. You
were just like all the rest. You cared only for my money, because it
could give you ease, luxury, station. When that was gone, you cared
nothing for me."