It being impracticable for me to go to my quarters in the storeroom
until the after house was settled, I went up on deck. Miss Lee had
her arm through Turner's and was talking to him. He seemed to be
listening to her; but at last he stopped and freed his arm, not
ungently.
"That all sounds very well, Elsa," he said, "but you don't know what
you are talking about."
"I know this."
"I'm not a fool--or blind."
He lurched down the companionway and into the cabin. I heard her
draw a long breath; then she turned and saw me.
"Is that you, Leslie?"
"Yes, Miss Lee."
She came toward me, the train of her soft white gown over her arm,
and the light from a lantern setting some jewels on her neck to
glittering.
"Mrs. Johns has told me where you are sleeping. You are very good
to do it, although I think she is rather absurd."
"I am glad to do anything I can."
"I am sure of that. You are certain you are comfortable there?"
"Perfectly."
"Then--good-night. And thank you."
Unexpectedly she put out her hand, and I took it. It was the first
time I had touched her, and it went to my head. I bent over her
slim cold fingers and kissed them. She drew her breath in sharply
in surprise, but as I dropped her hand our eyes met.
"You should not have done that," she said coolly. "I am sorry."
She left me utterly wretched. What a boor she must have thought me,
to misconstrue her simple act of kindness! I loathed myself with a
hatred that sent me groveling to my blanket in the pantry, and that
kept me, once there, awake through all the early part of the summer
night.
I wakened with a sense of oppression, of smothering heat. I had
struggled slowly back to consciousness, to realize that the door of
the pantry was closed, and that I was stewing in the moist heat of
the August night. I got up, clad in my shirt and trousers, and felt
my way to the door.
The storeroom and pantry of the after house had been built in during
the rehabilitation of the boat, and consisted of a short passageway,
with drawers for linens on either side, and beyond, lighted by a
porthole, the small supply room in which I had been sleeping.
Along this passageway; then, I groped my way to the door at the end,
opening into the main cabin near the chart-room door and across from
Mrs. Turner's room. This door I had been in the habit of leaving
open, for two purposes--ventilation, and in case I might be, as Mrs.
Johns had feared, required in the night.