FullReads

* * * * *

S.S. Diana, February 13, 1918

Dolly went on the bridge this afternoon and stayed a half-hour with the captain, giving no reason save that she liked to talk with him, which seemed plausible, but did not satisfy me. At bedtime I discovered her unpacking and laying out in her upper berth a dazzling toilet for our landing at St. Thomas to-morrow. She blushed when I looked in upon her.

“Do dress ‘up to me,’ Charlotte,” she coaxed. “I don’t want to be conspicuous. Wear your gray georgette and the broad hat with the roses.”

“Why this sudden display of vanity and good clothes?”

“Hasn’t your letter of introduction to Governor Oliver brought us an invitation to luncheon at Government House?”

“Yes; but I don’t suppose it is a banquet.”

“Charlotte, I must confide in you.”

“I should think it was about time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have known for days that you were concealing something.”

“I didn’t want to be secretive, but I thought it was only fair to you to keep my own counsel. Now you can report to mother that you knew nothing, and that therefore you couldn’t interfere.”

“But what have you done? You can’t be secretly married–with your chosen man in Washington and you on the vasty deep.”

“No; but I’m next door to it.”

“What do you mean by ‘next door’? Have you a groom and a minister waiting on the New York dock?”

“No; mother will be there, but I fear she won’t bring a minister. I’m so glad you imagined something far, far worse than I ever intended. It shows that you are more audacious than I–though nobody would believe it.”

“I don’t like your tone; but go on.”

“I’ve been communicating rather frequently with Duke.”

“So I fancied, from your changing money at every stop and doing continual sums on paper.”

“It has made me a pauper–this telegraphing in war-time. The messages go by Jamaica or Porto Rico or Trinidad or Bermuda and lots of other islands, and I think some of the messages must be personally conducted straight to New York by powerful swimmers, judging by the cost.”

“Go on. Don’t temporize.”

“I needn’t repeat all of them, and in fact I haven’t copies. Duke, after he had my first telegram from St. Thomas, wired back to St. Croix, ‘You are willing to take my name. Why, after all, shouldn’t I refuse your sacrifice and make one of my own by taking yours?‘ Wasn’t that noble?”

“It would have softened the heart of a suffragette or a feminist. What did you reply?”

“I said: ‘Never in the world!‘”

“‘Never’ would have been enough. You wasted three words at a dollar or so apiece.”

“I wanted to be strong. I said: ‘Never in the world! I am not going to have you criticized and nagged and made unhappy, as if your name were a crime!‘ Then he wired: ‘But it would remove objections, and cost only six thousand a year.‘ I had to wait two whole days and nights before I could cable: ‘Objector will surely meet me in New York. She will probably forgive if we are both firm. My mind is made up. I would rather be a you-know-what than remain a Valentine.‘”

“That was strong enough.”

“I meant it to be. He has been scurrilously treated, and somebody must stand by him. Now, to-morrow, February 14th, is his birthday. I remember it because we met on St. Valentine’s day, and it wasn’t many hours afterward that I guessed how he felt about me.”

“Dorothea! Do you mean to tell me that a man spoke to you of his feelings within twenty-four hours of the time you met?”

“No, I do not.”

“You certainly intimated as much. If it wasn’t many hours after you met on the 14th it must have been on the 15th.”

“No, you are wrong, Charlotte. It was the evening of the same day. We met in the early morning.”

“It sounds like a children’s party with an exchange of those snapping-mottoes.”