She hesitated a moment. “Rather sorry—yes. I shouldn’t have cared if we had just sailed on and on.”
“Nor I.” He stared at Honolulu with the bright look of interest that comes naturally to British eyes at sight of a new port, a new anchorage. The ship had come to a stop at the channel entrance, and a launch bearing the customs men and the doctor was speeding toward it.
“You haven’t forgotten?’ The Britisher turned back to Shelah Fane. “This isn’t journey’s end for me. You know I’m leaving you behind here to-night. Sailing out at midnight on this same ship—and I must have your answer before I go.”
She nodded. “You shall have it before you go. I promise.”
For a brief moment he studied her face. A marked change had crept over her at the sight of land. She had come back from the little world of the ship to to great world whose adoration she expected and thrived on. No longer calm, languorous, at peace, her eyes were alight with a restless flame, her small foot tapped nervously on the deck. A sudden fear overwhelmed him, a fear that the woman he had known and worshiped these past few weeks was slipping from him for ever.
“Why must you wait?” he cried. “Give me your answer now.”
“No, no,” she protested. “Not now. Later to-day.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Were there reporters on the launch, I wonder?”
A tall, handsome, hatless youth with a mop of blond hair waving in the breeze rushed up to her. His energy was a challenge to the climate.
