John was the riddle that I could not read.Among my last actions of this day was one that had been almost my earliest,and bedtime found me staring at his letter,as I stood,half undressed,by my table.The calm moon brought back Udolpho and what had been said there,as it now shone down upon the garden where Hortense had danced.I stared at John's letter as if its words were new to me,instead of being words that I could have fluently repeated from beginning to end without an error;it was as if,by virtue of mere gazing at the document,I hoped to wring more meaning from it,to divine what had been in the mind which had composed it;but instead of this,I seemed to get less from it,instead of more.Had the boy's purpose been to mystify me,he could scarce have done better.Ithink that he had no such intention,for it would have been wholly unlike him;but I saw no sign in it that I had really helped him,had really shaken his old quixotic resolve,nor did I see any of his having found a new way of his own out of the trap.I could not believe that the dark road of escape had taken any lodgement in his thought,but had only passed over it,like a cloud with a heavy shadow.But these are surmises at the best:if John had formed any plan,I can never know it,and Juno's remarks at breakfast on Sunday morning sounded strange,like something a thousand miles away.For she spoke of the wedding,and of the fact that it would certainly be a small one.She went over the names of the people who would have to be invited,and doubted if she were one of these.But if she should be,then she would go--for the sake of Miss Josephine St.Michael,she declared.In short,it was perfectly plain that Juno was much afraid of being left out,and that wild horses could not drag her away from it,if an invitation came to her.But,as I say,this side of the wedding seemed to have nothing to do with it,when Ithought of all that lay beneath;my one interest to-day was to see John Mayrant,to get from him,if not by some word,then by some look or intonation,a knowledge of what he meant to do.Therefore,disappointment and some anxiety met me when I stepped from the Hermana's gangway upon her deck,and Charley asked me if he was coming.But the launch,sent back to wait,finally brought John,apologizing for his lateness.
Meanwhile,I was pleased to find among the otherwise complete party General Rieppe.What I had seen of him from a distance held promise,and the hero's nearer self fulfilled it.We fell to each other's lot for the most natural of reasons:nobody else desired the company of either of us.
Charley was ****** himself the devoted servant of Hortense,while Kitty drew Beverly,Bohm,and Gazza in her sprightly wake.To her,indeed,Imade a few compliments during the first few minutes after my coming aboard,while every sort of drink and cigar was being circulated among us by the cabin boy.Kitty's costume was the most markedly maritime thing that I have ever beheld in any waters,and her white shoes looked (I must confess)supremely well on her pretty little feet.I am no advocate of sumptuary laws;but there should be one prohibiting big-footed women from wearing white shoes.Did these women know what a spatulated effect their feet so shod produce,no law would be needed.Yes,Kitty was superlatively,stridently maritime;you could have known from a great distance that she belonged to the very latest steam yacht class,and that she was perfectly ignorant of the whole subject.On her left arm,for instance,was worked a red propeller with one blade down,and two chevrons.It was the rating mark for a chief engineer,but this,had she known it,would not have disturbed her.
"I chose it,"she told me in reply to my admiration of it,"because it's so pretty.Oh,won't we enjoy ourselves while those stupid old blue-bloods in Kings Port are going to church!"And with this she gave a skip,and ordered the cabin boy to bring her a Remsen cooler.Beverly Rodgers called for dwarf's blood,and I chose a horse's neck,and soon found myself in the society of the General.
He was sipping whiskey and plain water."I am a rough soldiers sir,"he explained to me,"and I keep to the ****** beverage of the camp.Had we not 'rather bear those ills we have than fly to others that we know not of'?"And he waved a stately hand at my horse's neck."You are acquainted with the works of Shakespeare?"I replied that I had a moderate knowledge of them,and assured him that a horse's neck was very ******.
"Doubtless,sir;but a veteran is ever old-fashioned.""Papa,"said Hortense,"don't let the sun shine upon your head.""Thank you,daughter mine."They said no more;but I presently felt that for some reason she watched him.
He moved farther beneath the awning,and I followed him."Are you a father,sir?No?Then you cannot appreciate what it is to confide such a jewel as yon girl to another's keeping."He summoned the cabin boy,who brought him some more of the ****** beverage of the camp,and I,feeling myself scarce at liberty to speak on matters so near to him and so far from me as his daughter's marriage,called his attention to the beautiful aspect of Kings Port,spread out before us in a long white line against the blue water.
