"She is--or would be--remarkably pretty," added Sherwood. "I wonder
what ails her."
Arrived at the foot of the gangplank the young man removed his hat with
an air of perplexity, and looked about him. He was of the rather
florid, always boyish type; and the removal of his hat had revealed a
mat of close-curling brown hair, like a cap over his well-shaped head.
The normal expression of his face was probably quizzically humorous,
for already the little lines of habitual half laughter were sketched
about his eyes.
"A plunger," said John Sherwood to himself, out of his knowledge of
men; then as the young man glanced directly toward him, disclosing the
colour and expression of his eyes, "a plunger in something," he
amended, revising his first impression.
But now the humorous element was quite in abeyance, and a faint dismay
had taken its place. One arm supporting the drooping girl, he was
looking up and down the wharf. Not a vehicle remained save the heavy
drays already backing up to receive their loads of freight. The dock
hands had dropped and were coiling the line that had separated the
crowd from the landing stage.
With another exclamation the woman in the carriage rose, and before
Sherwood could make a move to assist her, had poised on the rim of the
wheel and leaped lightly to the dock. Like a thistledown she floated to
the little group at the foot of the gangplank. The steward instantly
gave way to her evident intention. She passed her arm around the girl's
waist. The three moved slowly toward the buggy, Mrs. Sherwood, her head
bent charmingly forward, murmuring compassionate, broken, little
phrases, supporting the newcomer's reviving footsteps.
Sherwood, a faint, fond amusement lurking in the depths of his eyes,
quietly cramped the wheels of the buggy.
IV
A half hour later the two men, having deposited the women safely in the
Sherwoods' rooms at the Bella Union, and having been unceremoniously
dismissed by Mrs. Sherwood, strolled together to the veranda. They had
not, until now, had a chance to exchange six words.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account