“Well, Osborne,” said one, lighting his cigar, “she didn’t arrive.”
“No,” smiled the other. “Fact is, Balderstone, I’m glad of it. She’s too snippy for me, and I’m afraid I should have quarrelled with you about her in a half-hearted, unconvincing manner.”
“I’m afraid I’d have been the same,” rejoined Balderstone; “for, between us, there’s a pretty little brunette from Chicago up on deck, and Marguerite Andrews would have got little attention from me while she was about, unless Harley violently outraged my feelings and his own convictions.”
And so the _New York_ sailed out to sea, and Marguerite Andrews watched her from the pier until she had faded from view.
As for Stuart Harley, the author, he sat in his study, wringing his hands and cursing his carelessness.
“I’ll have to modify the whole story now,” he said, impatiently, “since it is out of my power to bring the _New York_ back into port, with my hero, villain, chaperon, and twins; but whenever or wherever the new story may be laid, Marguerite Andrews shall be the heroine—she interests me. Meantime let Mrs. Willard chaperon her.”
And closing his manuscript book with a bang, Harley lit a cigarette, put on his hat, and went to the club.
“_Then gently scan your brother man_, _Still gentler sister woman_; _Tho’ they may gang a kennin wrang_, _To step aside is human_.”—BURNS.
WHEN, a few days later, Harley came to the reconstruction of his story, he began to appreciate the fact that what had seemed at first to be his misfortune was, on the whole, a matter for congratulation; and as he thought over the people he had sent to sea, he came to rejoice that Marguerite was not one of the party.
“Osborne wasn’t her sort, after all,” he mused to himself that night over his coffee. “He hadn’t much mind. I’m afraid I banked too much on his good looks, and too little upon what I might call her independence; for of all the heroines I ever had, she is the most sufficient unto herself. Had she gone along I’m half afraid I couldn’t have got rid of Balderstone so easily either, for he’s a determined devil as I see him; and his intellectual qualities were so vastly superior to those of Osborne that by mere contrast they would most certainly have appealed to her strongly. The baleful influence might have affected her seriously, and Osborne was never the man to overcome it, and strict realism would have forced her into an undesirable marriage. Yes, I’m glad it turned out the way it did; she’s too good for either of them. I couldn’t have done the tale as I intended without a certain amount of compulsion, which would never have worked out well. She’d have been miserable with Osborne for a husband anyhow, even if he did succeed in outwitting Balderstone.”