“I’ll be back in a minute,” she said, suddenly jumping up.
She walked quickly out of the lounge without knowing at all where she was going—she just felt that she had to be doing something, going somewhere, anything but just sitting still. She felt excited, too, as she pushed open the door that led out to the deck—it had been shut for the night—and launched herself out into the wind. It was just getting dark. The water was black, with patches of moving white, and seemed to be sliding past the ship much faster than it did in the daytime. She walked briskly round the deck, keeping an eye out for other pedestrians, but there was nobody about. She tried the other two decks, but they too were deserted. Then she stood hesitating. After all, she didn’t have the least idea of what to say to him if she met him—or whether she would find any excuse for it, or way of doing it. In fact, she wasn’t sure that that was what she wanted. She just wanted to see him. Perhaps he was in the smoking room. She turned and went down a companionway to the lower deck again, and then round the sun parlor to the smoking room. She went in and stood near the door, as if she just wanted to look round for someone, and surveyed the whole room. Old man Diehl was standing by the bar with Mr. Carter and two other men; he seemed to be a little drunk. They were telling smutty stories. The bar-steward saw her and warned them, and they lowered their voices. Two other men were sitting in armchairs facing the artificial fire; neither of them was the man she was looking for. And there was no one else in the room. She returned to the sun parlor, which looked very forlorn with its deserted wicker chairs under electric lights, facing the darkness and emptiness of the sea, and sat down. Suddenly she felt defeated and miserable. She didn’t want to see Katy or anybody—she didn’t want to go down to dinner. She would excuse herself with a headache and go to bed.…
V.
At lunch the next day she said she was going to speak to him if she died for it. She would ask him to join them in a game of whist. They could get old man Diehl to make the fourth, in case he accepted. Katy was skeptical but resigned.
“Anybody’d think you were in love with him,” she said.
Margaret laughed and blushed.
“Oh, no,” she said. “But I’d like to talk to him just the same. After lunch I’m going to find him if I have to comb the whole ship. He must be somewhere.”
They had seen him only once in the morning—as usual he was walking the deck for his half-hour’s constitutional. He passed them several times, and looked at them with interest but without speaking. Margaret said she thought he wanted to speak but was too bashful. He had that everlasting blue book under his arm, and his fair hair was all on end with the wind. Then he had disappeared again.
After lunch, accordingly, they went straight to the lounge and got a table, and Katy spoke to Mr. Diehl. Mr. Diehl said he would be in the smoking room and they could find him there any time in case they wanted a game. Katy got the cards and sat down at the table, and Margaret started off to make her search; and just at that very minute he came in and sat down at the other side of the room and opened his book. She didn’t know whether he had seen them or not.
She walked right up to him, smiling, and stood in front of him and looked down at him.
“Would you care to join us in a game of whist?” she said.
He closed his book and looked up.
“Oh, it’s you, is it?” he said, smiling.
She gave a laugh.
“Yes, it’s me, large as life and twice as natural!”
He stood up, tucking the book under his arm.
“As a matter of fact,” he said, “I never played whist in my life. Is it anything like bridge?”
“I don’t know, but I guess if you can play bridge you can play whist.”
They stood very close to each other, swaying with the ship, and again they found themselves looking into each other’s eyes as they had done the day before at lunch. Margaret almost regretted that they had planned the whist game for it was now obvious that otherwise she could have him all to herself.
“All right,” he said, again smiling, “if you can stand it I can.”
She led him over to the table and introduced him to Katy. He said his name was Camp. Katy got up and went in pursuit of Mr. Diehl, and they sat down.
“You’d better be my partner,” she said, “and then I can show you as we go along.”
She took the chair opposite his and began shuffling the cards, at the same time looking at him. A feeling of extraordinary happiness came over her—she had never in her life felt so happy, or so much as if her whole happiness was in her eyes. And the queer thing was that she somehow knew that he was in the same state of mind.
“What do you do with yourself all the time?” she asked. “You hardly ever seem to be anywhere round.”
“Most of the time I’ve been in the smoking room playing chess,” he said. “But I’ve also been working a good deal in my stateroom. I’ve got some work that has to be finished before we get to Liverpool. And there’s only two more days.”
Margaret felt a sharp pain in her breast.
“I get off at Queenstown,” she said. “Tomorrow night.”
“Do you?”
He accented the first word, and looked at her with a curious helplessness. They both dropped their eyes and became silent.
At that moment Katy brought Mr. Diehl and introduced him, and the game began. Margaret and Katy explained how it went to Mr. Camp, with a good deal of laughter. Mr. Diehl gave Mr. Camp a cigar.
“What’s your line of business, Mr. Camp?” he said.
Mr. Camp said that he was an architect. He was going over to superintend the construction of a new office building that an American firm was putting up in London. Margaret felt a thrill. She slid her right foot forward under the table, so that the toe of her slipper touched something. Then Mr. Camp, after a moment, caught her foot between his two feet and squeezed it firmly, and they looked at each other and smiled.
VI.
At four o’clock the deck-steward brought them tea, and Mr. Diehl began telling them in his deep voice, with a slight German accent, how he had come to America at the age of sixteen and worked in railroad repair shops. He said he was sixty-eight years old and strong as an ox, and he looked it. He told Mr. Camp about his Whirligig Car, at Coney Island, and how he got the idea for it in his work on trucks in the railroad yards. Now it had made him a fortune, and he was going over to Blackpool and Southport to put them in there.
Margaret couldn’t listen. She was impatient. She wanted to go off alone with Mr. Camp. She pressed his foot hard, under the table, and smiled at him. But he didn’t take the hint, or couldn’t think what to do. It was Katy who saved the day. She got up and suggested that they all take a stroll—it was a lovely warm day and a shame to be indoors. Besides, the lounge was getting stuffy.
“Come on, then, Katy!” said Mr. Diehl.
He jumped up and gave her his arm with mock gallantry—the sort of thing he was always doing—and they started off.
“Shall we walk too—or shall we stay here?” said Mr. Camp.
“Whatever you like,” said Margaret.
“I feel terribly separated from you, without your foot,” he said, laughing. “But I suppose we ought to get a breath of air.”
They climbed up to the top deck and began walking to and fro. He didn’t offer to take her arm, but walked rather distantly beside her. At first they couldn’t think of much to say—they talked about the whist game and Mr. Diehl, but not as if they were really interested in these things. Margaret felt as if she wouldn’t be able to think straight till she took his arm, so after a few turns on the deck she did so.