Harold Bindloss - The Secret of the Reef

Ruth looked up quickly. Jimmy had often been in her thoughts since she had last seen him; although, as he had shown no anxiety to avail himself of her invitation, she had made no inquiries about him. Osborne, however, had visited Vancouver, and, seeing the vessel at the wharf, had inquired about Farquhar and learned that he had left the ship on her previous voyage. Ruth resented his silence, but she could not forget him.

“What was the man like?” she asked.

“Which of them?”

“The last one; the navy man.” She found it slightly embarrassing to answer the question.

Aynsley gave her a keen glance.

“So far as I can recollect, he had light hair, and his eyes were a darker blue than you often see; about my age, I think, and unmistakably a sailor, but he had a smart look and the stamp of command. Do you know anybody like that?”

Ruth did not answer with her usual frankness; although she did not doubt that this was the second mate with whom she had spent many evenings on the big liner’s saloon deck.

“Oh, of course, we met several steamboat officers, and they’re much of a type,” she answered in an indifferent tone.

Aynsley saw that she was on her guard. Girls, he understood, often had a partiality for mailboat officers who were generally men of prepossessing appearance and manners. However, he kept his thoughts to himself, for he was usually diffident with Ruth. Although he had long admired her, he knew that he would not gain anything by an attempt to press his suit.

“Anyway,” he said, “they were pleasant fellows, and seemed to be having a hard time. Between the ice and gales and fog, it’s by no means a charming neighborhood.”

“Wasn’t it on one of those islands that my father was wrecked, and lost the gold he was bringing down?”

“Somewhere about there. Islands are plentiful in the North.” Aynsley paused and laughed. “Still, as my respected parent had some interest in the gold, I shouldn’t imagine they lost much. Losing things is not a habit of his. I believe he had a share in the vessel, too.”

“But she went down.”

“That wouldn’t matter. The underwriters would have an opportunity for paying up – probably rather more than she was worth. Considering my parentage, it’s curious I have no business talent.”

“Your father and mine have had dealings for a long time, haven’t they?”

“They have stood by each other for a good many years. It looks as if you and I were destined to be friends; but I sometimes think you don’t understand just what your friendship is to me.”

“Of course, we are good friends,” Ruth said carelessly; “but you have plenty others.”

“I have a host of acquaintances; but you’re different from the rest. That doesn’t sound very original, but it’s what I feel. There’s an intangible something that’s very fine about you; something rare and old-fashioned that belongs more to the quiet corners of the New England States than to our mushroom cities. It comes of long and careful cultivation, and isn’t to be found in places that spring up in a night.”

“Both my father’s and my mother’s people lived frugally in a very provincial Eastern town.”

“It proves my point. I know the kind of place: a ‘Sleepy Hollow,’ where nothing happens that hasn’t happened in the same way before, left as it was when the tide of American life poured West across the plains. One can imagine your mother’s people being bound by old traditions and clinging to the customs of more serious days. That, I think, is how you got your gracious calm, your depth of character, and a sweetness I’ve found in no one else.”

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