She looked like a forsaken elf. Captain Anthony had
moved towards her to keep her away from my end of the table, where the
tray was. I had never seen them so near to each other before, and it
made a great contrast. It was wonderful, for, with his beard cut to a
point, his swarthy, sunburnt complexion, thin nose and his lean head
there was something African, something Moorish in Captain Anthony. His
neck was bare; he had taken off his coat and collar and had drawn on his
sleeping jacket in the time that he had been absent from the saloon. I
seem to see him now. Mrs. Anthony too. She looked from him to me--I
suppose I looked guilty or frightened--and from me to him, trying to
guess what there was between us two. Then she burst out with a "What has
happened?" which seemed addressed to me. I mumbled "Nothing! Nothing,
ma'am," which she very likely did not hear.
"You must not think that all this had lasted a long time. She had taken
fright at our behaviour and turned to the captain pitifully. "What is it
you are concealing from me?" A straight question--eh? I don't know what
answer the captain would have made.
Pages:
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651