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Updated: May 9, 2025
Staniford took her hand out, and held it while he bowed low toward her. "I declare myself satisfied." "I don't understand," said Lydia, in alarm and mortification. "When a subject has been personally aggrieved by his sovereign, his honor is restored if they merely cross swords." The girl laughed her delight in the extravagance.
Dunham lay in a stupor for twenty-four hours, and after that he was delirious, with dim intervals of reason in which they kept him from talking, till one morning he woke and looked up at Staniford with a perfectly clear eye, and said, as if resuming the conservation, "I struck my head on a pile of chains."
Staniford smiled at the countrified phrase; he had observed that when she spoke her mind she used an instinctive good language; when she would not speak it, she fell into the phraseology of the people with whom she had lived. "I see you don't wish to say, because you think she is a friend of mine. But you can speak out freely. We were not friends; we were enemies, if anything."
That must be the reason why he keeps away." "Keeps away?" asked Lydia. "Now I've made an ass of myself!" thought Staniford. "You said that he seemed to have lost his interest," he answered her. "Oh! Yes!" assented Lydia. And then she remained rather distraught, pulling at the ruffling of her dress.
The captain was going ashore, and had asked such of his passengers as liked, to go with him and see the place. When Staniford appeared, Dunham was loyally refusing to leave his friend till he was fairly on foot. At sight of him they suspended their question long enough to welcome him back to animation, with the patronage with which well people hail a convalescent.
The picture seemed pleasing to neither Staniford nor Dunham; they went on deck together, and sat down to their cigarettes in their wonted place. They did not talk of Lydia, or of any of the things that had formed the basis of their conversation hitherto, but Staniford returned to his Colorado scheme, and explained at length the nature of his purposes and expectations.
She turned on him a look that cut him to the heart, with what he fancied its reproach and its wonder. She did not reply at once, and then she did not reply to his hinted question. "Mr. Staniford," she began. It was the second time he had heard her pronounce his name; he distinctly remembered the first. "Well?" he said. "I want to speak to you about lending that book to Mr. Hicks.
"Do me proud," said Hicks. "Proud, I 'sure you. Gentleman, every time, Stanny. Know good thing when you see it hear it, I mean." "Look here, Hicks," said Staniford, choosing to make friends with the mammon of unrighteousness, if any good end might be gained by it. "You know you're drunk, and you're not fit to be about.
Watterson aside with his left hand, and in default of specific orders the latter allowed him to mount to the deck again. Hicks stayed himself a moment, and lurched to where Staniford and Dunham sat with Lydia. "What I wish say Miss Blood is," he began, "what I wish say is, peculiar circumstances make no difference with man if man's gentleman.
She rapidly sketched the history of the family to which she imagined Staniford to belong. "I remember his sister; I used to see her at school. She must have been five or six years younger than I; and this boy " "Why, he's twenty-eight years old!" interrupted Lydia. "How came he to tell you?" "I don't know. He said that he looked thirty-four."
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