The Intriguers | Page 5

you supposed to sit up all night and watch the animals for her?" he asked.
"Only for an hour or two. The steamboat people refused to have them in the saloon, and the maid should have relieved me. She was tired, however, with packing and running errands all day, and I thought I'd let her sleep a while."
"Then it can't be much of an intrusion if I try to make you more comfortable. Let me move your chair nearer the deckhouse, where you'll be out of the wind; but I'll first see if I can find another rug."
He left her without waiting for a reply, and, returning with a rug, placed her chair in a sheltered spot; then he leaned against the railing.
"So you are Mrs. Keith's companion," he observed. "It strikes me as rather unfeeling of her to keep you here in the cold." He indicated the baskets. "But what's her object in buying these creatures?"
"Caprice," Millicent smiled. "Some of them are savage, and they cost a good deal. I can't imagine what she means to do with them; I don't think she knows herself. One of them, however, has been growling all day, and as it's apparently unwell it mustn't be neglected."
"If it growls any more, I'll feel tempted to turn yonder hose upon it, or try some other drastic remedy."
"Please don't!" cried Millicent in alarm. "But you mustn't think Mrs. Keith is inconsiderate. I have much to thank her for; but she gets very enthusiastic over her hobbies."
"Do you know whether she ever goes down to a little place in Shropshire?"
"Yes; I have been with her. Once she took me to your old home." The color crept into Millicent's face. "You don't seem to remember me, Lieutenant Blake."
Blake had learned self-control and he did not start, though he came near doing so as he recalled a scene in which he had taken part some years earlier.
"It would have been inexcusable if I had forgotten you," he responded with a smile. "Still, I couldn't quite place you until a few moments ago, when you faced the light. But you were wrong in one thing: I'm no longer Lieutenant Blake."
She appreciated the frankness which had prompted this warning, and she saw that she had made a tactless blunder, but she looked at him steadily.
"I forgot," she said; "forgive me. I heard of--what happened in India--but I knew that there must have been some mistake." She hesitated for a moment. "I think so now."
Blake made a sudden movement, and then leaned back against the railing.
"I'm afraid that an acquaintance which lasted three or four minutes could hardly enable you to judge: first impressions are often wrong, you know. Anyway, I don't complain of the opinion of gentlemen who knew more about me."
Millicent saw that the subject must be dropped.
"At our first meeting," she said, "I had no opportunity for thanking you; and you gave me none tonight. It's curious that, while I've met you only twice, on both occasions you turned up just when you were needed. Is it a habit of yours?"
Blake laughed.
"That's a flattering thing to hint. The man who's always on hand when he's wanted is an estimable person."
He studied her with an interest which she noticed but could not resent. The girl had changed and gained something since their first meeting, and he thought it was a knowledge of the world. She was, he felt, neither tainted nor hardened by what she had learned, but her fresh childish look which suggested ignorance of evil had gone and could not come back. Indeed, he wondered bow she had preserved it in her father's house. This was not a matter he could touch upon; but presently she referred to it.
"I imagine," she said shyly, "that on the evening when you came to my rescue in London you were surprised to find me--so unprepared; so incapable of dealing with the situation."
"That is true," Blake answered with some awkwardness. "A bachelor dinner, you know, after a big race meeting at which we had backed several winners! One has to make allowances."
Millicent smiled rather bitterly.
"You may guess that I had to make them often in those days; but it was on the evening we were speaking of that my eyes were first opened, and I was startled. But you must understand that it was not by my father's wish that I came to London and stayed with him--until the end. He urged me to go away; but his health had broken down and he had no one else to care for him. When he was no longer able to get about, everybody deserted him, and he felt it."
"I was truly sorry to hear of his death," Blake said. "Your father was once a very good friend to me. But, if I may