When she and Dennison arrived at the door of her cabin she turned
impulsively and gave him both her hands. He held them lightly, because his
emotions were at full tide, and he did not care to have her sense it in
any pressure. Her confidence in him now was absolute, and he must guard
himself constantly. Poor fool! Why hadn't he told her that last night on
the British transport? What had held him back?
The uncertain future--he had let that rise up between. And now he could
not tell her. If she did not care, if her regard did not go beyond
comradeship, the knowledge would only distress her.
The yacht was beginning to roll now, for they were making the East China
Sea. The yacht rolled suddenly to starboard, and Jane fell against him. He
caught her, instantly turned her right about and gently but firmly forced
her into the cabin.
"Good-night. Remember! Rap on the partition if you hear anything you don't
like."
"I promise."
After she had locked and latched the door she set about the business of
emptying her kit bags. She hung the evening gown she had worn all day in
the locker, laid her toilet articles on the dresser, and set the brass
hand warmer on the lowboy. Then she let down her hair and began to brush
it. She swung a thick strand of it over her shoulder and ran her hand down
under it. The woman in "Phra the Phoenician," Allori's Judith--and she had
always hated the colour of it! She once more applied the brush, balancing
herself nicely to meet the ever-increasing roll.
Nevertheless, she did feel free, freer than she had felt in all her life
before. A stupendous adventure! After the braids were completed she flung
them down her back, turned off the light, and peered out of the
rain-blurred port. She could see nothing except an occasional flash of
angry foam as it raced past. She slipped into bed, but her eyes remained
open for a long time.
Dennison wondered if there would be a slicker in his old locker. He opened
the door. He found an oilskin and a yellow sou'wester on the hooks. He
took them down and put them on and stole out carefully, a hand extended
each side to minimize the roll. He navigated the passage and came out into
the salon.
Cleigh was still immersed in his book. He looked up quickly, but
recognizing the intruder, dropped his gaze instantly. Dennison crossed the
salon to the companionway and staggered up the steps. Had his father ever
really been afraid of anything? He could not remember ever having seen the
old boy in the grip of fear. What a devil of a world it was!