Ellen's steady eyes studied him. "It doesn't bother you now."
"It bothers me like the devil that it's not bigger," said Jay. "I hear Lew Alban is on his way to us."
"He'll be here Monday," said Ellen. "There's only one train from Stanley in the morning. It's early. Meeting him?"
"At the train?" asked Jay. "Me?"
"Art Slengel will probably be there," said Ellen. "Your father won't; and Mr. Lowry's out of town."
Jay set his alarm clock that night for rising earlier and, as he pointed the signal hand, he thought of that hour as Ellen Powell's for him. Lida's morning hour for him and for herself, he remembered, lay far along the dial; Lida, with all her lilt and liveliness, liked late rising and to loll in the room, bathing and breakfasting in luxurious leisure.
He recollected it, almost with surprise, as he dressed in his room cold from the night. Lida, far away, would not be cold; she had slipped away from New York, indeed, and was on the Wilmerdons' yacht in the Caribbean or perhaps she was ashore now at St. Lucia or Barbados. She had written him her itinerary in the letter which had announced her departure as an accomplished fact; for she had sailed before he received her letter. Two weeks ago that was, so now, unless the whim of the party had changed, they might be at St. Lucia.
It reminded Jay of Levuka. Lida had wantgd him to go with her to Levuka; instead she was in the palm groves of St. Lucia—with whom? He ran over her mention of the other guests: four men; two with their wives,
