“When I am married I would rather have the ‘Dead March in Saul’ played than that,” said Launa at last.
The triumphant whistler gazed incredulously at her. He found her irresponsive, so he left her alone, and went to get a whisky and soda. No doubt the poor girl was feeling sick. She would not argue about anticipation and realisation, or time and love. She seemed so cold. He could imagine her sailing on through life alone. She evidently did not care for men; anyhow she did not encourage him.
Launa was occupied with her thoughts. She was trying to seal up her life as if it were a book and could be put away. The long, uneventful days were good for reflection, but they were trying and full of remorse and regret.
“I am young,” she said to herself; “only nineteen, and I will forget,” said her mind, “and I wish for Paul,” said her heart, which was like the ship’s engines—an essential part of movement and life.
“Hearts,” she said to the young man with anticipations, when he returned, “are only necessary to one’s being as the engines are to a steamer.”
“You are so young,” he answered, wondering why she should mention her heart.
Just then Mr. Archer appeared at the companion door to breathe the air. He was writing a paper on the intestines of salmon and grayling. The young man turned to him and said:
“Miss Archer compares our hearts to the engines.”
The young man left them and went to play poker; they were an unsuitable pair. Mr. Archer came over to Launa, who turned quickly to him.
“Father, I heard you talking to Mrs. Montmorency that day on the _Lethe_—about Mr. Harvey—was it true?”
“It was quite true about the squaw and the child,” he answered slowly.
“Ah!” she exclaimed with a little gasp. “Then a man can think of two women at the same time.”
She turned her face away from him, for his kind, penetrating look hurt her, and just then she needed him to be cross to her.
“Why do you ask me these questions, child?”
“Because it seemed so strange to me—I could not understand him.”
“Merely strange and not brutal? Nothing to you? Well, you hardly knew him, Launa.”
“Nothing to me,” she repeated, and her father returned to his writing.
The young man with anticipations saw his departure, and hastened to talk to Launa. He was singularly anxious to realise the pleasure of Miss Archer’s society; she was quite original.