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"'Believe you'," said the girl, as one would address an inferior for the purpose of putting him into the category where he belongs. "'Honest work'! When have you been particular as to that; whether or not" with mocking irony in the pitiless violet eyes "it was 'honest'?" Mr. Heatherbloom started; his gaze met hers unwaveringly. "You don't think, then, that I " "Think?" said the girl. "I know."
"I didn't really mean it was necessary," he ended firmly. "Of course it was," said the girl. Her accent conveyed no note of displeasure. Profile-wise he saw her face now the young moon beyond. "Don't think I'm blaming you. I'm not quite so hard, perhaps, as I once was." Mr. Heatherbloom stood back a little farther in the shadow. "Maybe, my poor little standard of judgment " she stopped.
In the first place he discovered that Miss Dalrymple was not entirely pleased at the publication of the story of her engagement to the prince; her position her family's and that of Miss Van Rolsen, was such that newspaper advertising or notoriety could not but be distasteful. "I hope people won't think I keep a social secretary," Mr. Heatherbloom heard her say. Yes, heard her.
He folded his arms tight over his breast. To think that this should be his one great, crying need his! Above, he heard footsteps descending the stairway at the foot of which he stood; Mr. Heatherbloom slipped out of the passage to the sidewalk and moved on. Chance took him back the way he had come; he had no choice of direction.
During the hour of his exclusion from Miss Dalrymple's company he had sallied forth on a small but necessary financial errand of his own. Francois had placed in the basket of biscuits a revolver, and this latter Mr. Heatherbloom, rightfully construing it as his own personal property in lieu of the weapon his excellency had deprived him of, had exchanged for a bit of cardboard and a greenback.
It was somewhat uncommon for any one in the wee boat to save himself, truly, but even in this feature of the present case the prince experienced but a mild interest. "Who are you?" he said. "A fisherman?" "Not exactly," answered Mr. Heatherbloom, "though sometimes I crab. I was crabbing yesterday." As he spoke his gaze swept beyond to not far-distant cabin doors and windows.
Heatherbloom was very red; he looked toward the door. She did not answer; her eyes continued bent straight before her, and she saw the whole quick scene of the drama unfolded. Then the street became cleared, the fleeing figure had turned a corner as an automobile, not engaged for the performance, came around it and went by. A big car her own she was in it.
The overworked stokers would be but too pleased to escape, for a spell, their tyrannous master. Mr. Heatherbloom, standing near the threshold of the dressing-room, glanced now toward the little French clock without. Over four hours yet to port! How slowly time went.
Heatherbloom had hoped it might be only the captain he would be called on to encounter, and that that august person would summarily dispose of him, ordering him somewhere out of sight, below, to work his passage in the sailors' galley, perhaps. He would have welcomed the most ignominious service to have found now a respite to be enabled to escape discovery a little longer.
"Eh bien!" And again they went on in silence. Toward noon, reaching a fringe of the forest, they found before them a wide open space where the ground was higher and dry, but the walking more difficult. The grass, long and tenacious, twined snake-like around their ankles; they had to go more slowly, but reached, at length, the top of the eminence. Here Mr. Heatherbloom stopped.
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