Weldon picked up his napkin with a
brief prayer of thanksgiving. What if he was going out to Africa in
search of Boers and glory? There was no especial reason he should
not enjoy himself on the way.
Weldon had gained a wide experience of American girls. well-bred,
well-chaperoned, nevertheless they offered possible points of
contact to the strangers with whom they were thrown. To all seeming,
Ethel Dent was as accessible as the outer wall of an ice palace.
Beside her decorous ignoring of his existence, Miss Arthur, lean and
spectacled and sniffy, appeared to be of maternal kindliness, albeit
her only advances had been a muffled request for the salt. The next
morning, Miss Arthur's chair had been empty, and her charge, left to
herself, had been more glacially circumspect than ever. Whatever
skittish traits the pair might develop, Weldon felt assured that
they would be solely upon the side of Miss Ophelia Arthur.
Now, however, he was giving himself praise for his own astute
generalship. It was no slight matter, at the end of the third day,
to find himself sitting next to Miss Dent in the line of steamer
chairs and even bending over to pick up the novel she had dropped.
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