# A Discord in Avalon/Chapter 1
### CHAPTER I.

ONE to Avalon. Thanks."
Allan Quentin plunged from the ticket window and at a half run made the gangway of the waiting Cabrillo just as the plank was being hauled in. With a laughing nod to the men, he was across the gap, drew a breath of secure relief, and started forward to obtain a seat.
There was the usual confusion of the usual last moment, with every one debating as to the best seats, and the possibility of finding any seats at all dwindling with alarming rapidity. The frown that had drawn Quentin's black brows together deepened when he observed that most of the passengers shared his dislike of the sunny side of the boat, but his quick eye caught a vacant place forward.
He beat a shivery little man to it, settling down with a sigh of huge satisfaction, and laughingly advised the refrigerated gentleman to take the sunny side and thaw out; whereat the other grinned and obeyed. Quentin ran a quick eye over the rest of the passengers, observed no one who attracted his notice except one very large, bull-necked man in blue clothes and blue derby, and thereupon cast out everything from his mind save sky and sea and the blue-ridged Catalinas ahead.
It was his first outing in three years, and he was enjoying it with his whole soul—though he subconsciously noted that the bull-necked man had very high blood pressure, and that two of the tourists were undoubtedly "lungers." For, though Quentin had left his office and practice behind, he could not leave his profession likewise.
He had promised to meet Tommy Wells and Bunt Green, for a three days' fishing trip down the coast, but it was with some difficulty that he had gotten away. While he was a young surgeon—as surgeons go—he was both strong of jaw and well established in Los Angeles; having buried a few wealthy patients and cured at least one, he was made both financially and socially. Tommy Wells and Bunt Green were social lights who had more money than horse power, and who confined themselves chiefly to the Country Club at the Catalinas, where they lived a languid existence on golf and fishing and Scotch and kindred pursuits. Quentin had cured young Green of fever impregnated with too much golf and Scotch, and, while by no means intimate with the pair, he saw no reason why he should not enjoy himself at their expense.
He gave his shoulders a little shake, looking back at receding San Pedro, and flinging off all worries. Men said that Allan Quentin was a good surgeon but too hardened for his age; yet this was because they noted his cold gray eyes, tight mouth, and rather aggressive carriage, and utterly failed to note the deftness of his fingers and the level brightness of his smile.
Thus far, he had taken no notice of the occupant of the chair next to his; but now his attention was attracted by an unusual movement on the part of the man in the blue derby, whose eyes were fastened at his side. Quentin eyed the man, sized him up as a detective or plain-clothes man—then shivered slightly at a light contact. He glanced down to see a hand stealthily approaching his coat pocket.
It was a woman's hand, slender and well shaped, perfectly manicured and with unexpected dimples over each knuckle. Its white perfection was unadorned by rings, although he noted a circle on one finger which told the tale of a ring recently removed. Then he glanced at the owner of the hand.
She was leaning forward in her chair, her eyes fastened on the ocean, while a look of faint anxiety was evident in her features. Her whole attitude was one of strained concern, uncertainty; but even as he looked down at her, the hand left his coat. With a little sigh of relief, the girl settled back into her chair; the look of half-fearful worry vanished from her face, and her hand dropped into her lap again.
Quentin was thoroughly puzzled. His first thought was that she was a pickpocket, for the Catalina boats made an excellent place in which light-fingered gentry could ply their trade upon tourists; also, the bull-necked man in the blue derby was unquestionably a detective, and seemed to be watching the girl.
He looked down at her more keenly, for women whose hands went exploring were not apt to resent obtrusive stares. But she seemed to have lost all interest in him. It was as though that quick, light touch on his coat had sent flying some wandering uneasiness—and yet the notion was absurd.
His gray eyes softened as he watched her. The face was not beautiful, and still it bore an expression of patience which lent it indefinable sweetness. To Quentin it seemed that this expression might have been born of much suffering, though she had no appearance of ill health, in spite of the frailty of her throat and arms. Her oval face had a broad brow around which rippled a cluster of golden-brown waves of hair, and Quentin suddenly found it hard to eye her with his usual indifference to things physical.
She had removed her hat and the sea breeze was lifting her hair gently, loosing it and sending stray strands playing about her cheeks. A smile curved her lips and she tossed her head back- ward with a deep breath, as if she could not get enough of the salt-scented, sun-filled air.
Then their eyes met—or Quentin thought they did. And upon that, his conceit received a sudden shock, for he perceived that she was staring through him, past him, as though he did not exist. He thought at first that she had noted his detection of that stealthy hand, yet her face was quite calm and unflushed.
"Well?" he said quietly, coolly forcing the issue. "Your hand is a very light one, but I happen to be somewhat sensitive to touch."
He received another glimpse of eyes that met his quite frankly and yet evaded him. They held a peculiar quality in their violet depths—a quality that caused him swift remorse at his own words, and sent unwonted sympathy into his face. Then she gave a quick little rippling laugh and responded:
"Oh, you caught me? Well, I had to see what kind of person you were!"
Quentin was anything but prepared for such frankness.
"Yes—but——" he hesitated.
"Why was I feeling your coat? Isn't that what you want to know?"
"Why, if you don't mind—it really doesn't matter, you know," he stammered, feeling suddenly that he had blundered. She reassured him, laughing softly:
"You see, I could tell from the feel whether you were a gentleman or not."
"Sorry you couldn't tell from my face," he smiled, amused. She turned half away, a little flicker of pain crossing her own face. "And how did you class me?"
"Well," she hesitated, still looking away, "of course, I might make mistakes, but I can often tell by the cloth. I have studied it——"
"But why?" he insisted, wondering if she were trying to lie her way out of a difficulty. If so, it was a poor effort, he thought.
"Can't—can't you tell why?" She turned swiftly, her face to his. Again he felt that swift quality of her eyes, and he leaned back with a catch of his breath.
"Forgive me," he said quickly. To himself he added bitterly: "And I call myself a surgeon!"
The girl was blind.
However, he had little chance to reflect on his own brutality, as he termed it, for she leaned forward confidingly.
"Let me look at you."
Her fingers ran lightly over his face, then she settled back without comment.
Well?" he urged, smiling a little.
"Guess!" She rippled out a laugh.
Upon that, Quentin began to make himself agreeable; she seemed to be glad to get away from the topic of her blindness, and yet she appeared to sense the quick sympathy in him which was hidden from most eyes. His quiet poise had its effect, and soon she was chatting and laughing with him, listening to his description of the mountains behind and the sharpening outlines of the Catalinas ahead with unalloyed delight.
It puzzled him. What was she doing on this trip, purely a sight-seeing one, if she was blind? She was absolutely alone also, as he found by delicate questions which attained their object; yet she was well dressed, and evidently a girl of high intelligence and strong character—and he was undeniably puzzled.
More than once he found the eyes of the man in the blue derby fastened now on the girl, now on himself, in an oddly irritating fashion. Quentin reflected that the man was doubtless a policeman or detective on vacation, and was not above seeking prey in the shape of an unprotected girl. For he did not think it hard to see that the girl was blind.
The two hours' trip sped by rapidly, and long before Avalon Bay opened out he had quietly determined to see that she was cared for, unless friends were at the boat to meet her.
"You explain everything so clearly," and there was a hint of sadness in her tone when he had told her of the wharf ahead and the boys swimming about the ship and diving for coins. "And you don't seem to weary of it!"
"Well, you're an admirable listener," he smiled. "How is it that you're alone?"
She looked away, and, reproaching himself instantly for a brute, with some fear that he would be misunderstood by her evidently sensitive nature, he swung to the subject of the boys around them. The chatter and calls which floated up from the youngsters were amusing in the extreme, and speedily drew a rain of small change from the passengers.
"Aw, come on, sport! Don't be a piker! Loosen up, old man!" shouted an urchin at Quentin, who laughed and tossed out a quarter. There was a rush after it, a storm of spray, and one grinning youngster came up with the coin in his cheek and a yell for more.
"Come it again! You didn't throw straight, mister!"
"I do wish you could see all this!" laughed Quentin in the girl's ear.
"Thank goodness, I can hear it," she answered delightedly. "Oh, throw out some more money! I love to hear them yelling and splashing!
"Did he get it?" she added quickly, feeling the sweep of Quentin's arm.
"You bet he did—caught it in his mouth and was yelling for another before I got my arm down," he chuckled. "But here we are at the wharf—may I help you through the crowd?"
"Is—is there a crowd?" she faltered, suddenly relapsing into timidity.
"No, except on the gangplank. There's a rule here in Avalon, I understand, that all on shore must stay behind chalk lines until the steamer passengers are unloaded and have a chance to decide where they want to go. Are your friends to meet you?"
"I—I—no, I think not," she replied, her hands twisting at her handkerchief. Then she had turned lightly to him, laughing again. "Oh, I've so longed to come here! Do take me ashore, if it won't be too much trouble."
"I'll be delighted," he replied gravely. He wondered, however, why she was so delighted at the trip; perhaps her overacute senses gave her some perception of the things about her, after all. "Come!"
He guided her to the rear of the crowd, which was streaming thinly down the gangway. Ahead of them were the clamoring guides and touts and fishermen, staying well back of their chalked lines, while beyond these were the narrow streets rising against the hill, with the sun-blue sky and bay striking back the gorgeous hues on every hand. He looked down at the girl's face, and saw it quivering with delight; it was as if she actually felt the color of everything, and the hand that rested on his arm was trembling.
"Would—would it^ be imposing on you"—she half turned to him—"if I asked you to take me to the Metropole? After that I'll be all right, for my friends did not expect me, you see——"
"It's a pleasure," he reassured her, admiring her nerve in making this trip by herself. If she had friends at the hotel, she would soon be in good hands, though he felt a little thrill of disappointment at the idea of not seeing her again.
A burly form shoved past him, and he saw it was the man in the blue derby, who was making his way out to the end of the plank. Quentin and the girl pressed forward in his track, and a moment later were standing at the edge of the throng.
Since there was no mistaking the big hotel, he took her arm and they started toward the gate. There, however, he saw the man in the blue derby standing, watching them, and his anger began to rise. If the fellow was trying to enjoy himself, Quentin decided that he would get a lesson shortly. On the other hand, he suddenly thought the man might have been set to keep watch from afar on the girl; her friends might like to give her the impression of freedom, yet keep a careful guard over her.
As they came to the gate, however, Quentin lost this impression quickly.
The detective, if such he was, stepped forward with a sharp glance at Quentin, and caught the girl's arm.
"Just a minute, miss," he said roughly. "I'd like to know your name."