He looked after her.
She tottered slightly just before reaching the door and flung it to
behind her nervously.
Anthony--he had felt this crash as if the door had been slammed inside
his very breast--stood for a moment without moving and then shouted for
Mrs. Brown. This was the steward's wife, his lucky inspiration to make
Flora comfortable. "Mrs. Brown! Mrs. Brown!" At last she appeared from
somewhere. "Mrs. Anthony has come on board. Just gone into the cabin.
Hadn't you better see if you can be of any assistance?"
"Yes, sir."
And again he was alone with the situation he had created in the hardihood
and inexperience of his heart. He thought he had better go on deck. In
fact he ought to have been there before. At any rate it would be the
usual thing for him to be on deck. But a sound of muttering and of faint
thuds somewhere near by arrested his attention. They proceeded from Mr.
Smith's room, he perceived. It was very extraordinary. "He's talking to
himself," he thought. "He seems to be thumping the bulkhead with his
fists--or his head."
Anthony's eyes grew big with wonder while he listened to these noises.
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