# The Girl With the Blue Sailor (Ladies' Home Journal serial)/Part 3

from The Ladies' Home Journal, 1905 June, pp. 15–16.
“As He Mounted the Steps to Them They Opened Suddenly and Disclosed in Their Midst Her of the Sailor”

### Chapter V

FOR some moments Sheldon stood staring, incapable of motion—incapable indeed, of connected thought. He saw only her grace of pose as, chin in hand, she gazed out over the valley. Then, as the mists cleared, his eyes began to glow with humorous perception, for he saw the warm color coming and going in the cheek that was turned toward him. At last she moved, arose slowly, and looked down.
“Oh!” she cried, with a little start.
“Well done!” he commended, and clapped the hands softly. “Worthy of a larger audience!”
She flushed a little, but could not wholly repress a smile.
“You were pretending, too,” she said.
“When, may I ask?”
“When you stood down there a moment ago attitudinizing and spouting poetry.”
It was his turn to flush, and he reddened in good earnest.
“I'm not such a fool as that!” he protested.
“Then you didn't know I was here?”
“Certainly not; how should I?”
“I thought it was a plot!” she cried, and stamped her foot. “I think so yet!”
“A plot? A plot?” and a sudden light burst upon him. “Oh, now I understand!”
“Then you're a victim, too?”
“Oh, not a victim—quite the opposite of a victim.”
“Then I suppose I must forgive you.”
“You certainly must. May I come up?”
“If you wish. I'm coming down.”
“Then I won't come up. Oh, yes, I must—I promised.”
“Promised whom?”
“My benefactor who brought me hither.”
“One of the plotters?”
“I suppose so—but I forgive all his sins against me.”
She stamped her foot again.
“Oh, it's too bad of them!” she cried. Then she stopped, her brows knitted. “May I ask where you're stopping?”
“I'm the guest of Mynheer Van Valkenburg.”
“Then you know the Robertses?”
“Oh, very well! You don't mean that, by any chance, you, also——”
“Yes; and now I shall have to go away.”
“I don't see why.”
“Of course you don't see why! You, a mere man! You don't care—it makes no difference to you!”
He stood looking at her a moment.
“I see,” he said slowly at, last. “No, I suppose it doesn't make so much difference to me. But—well, you needn't go away. I'll go.”
“Oh, no!” she protested. “You've done nothing. Why should I drive you away? Besides,” she hesitated, coloring a little, “it's not so much your being there as that they know——”
She stopped again and colored more vividly. Sheldon's heart was beating madly.
“You wrote them, I suppose, of the—ah—contretemps?”
“Yes—yesterday, when I told them I was coming. But how did they know it was you?”
“They discovered it by accident—a friend of mine supplied the details. He and his wife were on the train—the real culprits.”
She nodded, still looking at him searchingly from the corner of her eye.
“There might be another way,” she said at last. “We could turn the tables, perhaps; pretend we had not met up here; pretend we had never before seen each other when they introduce us, as they're sure to do; be merely indifferent, cold, uninterested—that ought not to be difficult.”
“Ought it not?” Sheldon groaned inwardly.
“It would be a very proper revenge to take on them for their—their hardihood.”
“But I don't believe in revenge,” protested Sheldon.
“Either that, or I shall have to go away.”
“Oh, I agree. But there's one thing I don't understand. How do you happen to be here?”
“They're my cousins; I came last night on the stage from Westkill.”
“That's why they were so anxious to keep me away from the house,” said the Deacon thoughtfully.
“Did they keep you away?”
“They kept me out on the lake till nearly midnight. It's undoubtedly a plot. But I meant to ask by what miracle you came to be up here on this rock—how did they manage that?”
“Oh, it was a wager—they dared me, so, of course, I came. I shall never forgive them!”
“Oh, you must forgive them,” protested Sheldon. “One mustn't be vindictive. I have forgiven them.”
“I shall not forgive them for a long time—not till I've had my revenge,” she said. “You, of course, will do as you please.”
“I'm going to do as you please,” corrected Sheldon. “I'm entirely at your command. Hadn't I better come up and sit down while we arrange our plan?”
“Oh, no; it isn't that intricate. We're simply not to know each other.”
Sheldon's face fell.
“But, of course,” he pointed out, “as the plot progresses there will be further details to be worked out.”
“We can cross that bridge when we come to it,” she retorted curtly. “Now, I think, I must be going down. Wait ten minutes before you follow me. And remember, we're strangers—we really are, anyway, you know.”
“I don't think so,” said Sheldon, “but I'll do my best.”
She smiled at him, or, perhaps, at his tone of resignation.
“I'm not going to stay a great while,” she said, “so the strain won't be excessive. Good-by.”
“Good-by.”
He stood, cap in hand, watching her until she disappeared among the trees. Then he, too, started downward.
“No,” he said, stopping suddenly. “I've got to climb the rock—I promised Agens.”
He scrambled up it hastily, sat for a moment on the promontory where he had first seen her, then descended. He was a little anxious about her—she should have permitted him to accompany her through the wood—his imagination suddenly peopled it with nameless dangers—and he hastened his steps. He came to the place where he had left Agens, but that worthy was nowhere in sight.
“'I'll Think I'm Going to Hate You!' She Said, Looking at Him with Blazing Eyes” “Sneaked off,” commented Sheldon, and hurried on.
But she of the white sailor was agile, too, for when he reached the edge of the clearing he saw her far ahead of him. He sat down in the shadow of the trees and waited until she reached the house, then he sauntered slowly toward it. As he turned the corner he was surprised to see a group on the porch awaiting him. It was the Robertses and Agens and his wife, and as he mounted the steps to them they opened suddenly and disclosed in their midst her of the sailor.
“Mr. Sheldon,” called Cecil, “let me introduce you to our cousin, Dorothy Merton. Dorothy, this is the Mr. Sheldon we were speaking of a moment ago.”
They were tense, expectant, waiting for the dénouement, as one does at the theatre.
Miss Merton bowed carelessly, with no hint of recognition.
Sheldon's hands were trembling as he bowed in return. He didn't like her unconcern, but the gasp which ran around the group repaid him in a way.
“You—you haven't met Mr. Sheldon before, Dorothy?” stammered Cecil, after a moment.
“Before? Why, where should I have met him?”
“You were both mountain-climbing this morning.”
“Oh, the mountain is large and the woods are dense. I did hear something breaking through the underbrush, but I thought it was a cow.”
“See here, Agens,” broke in Sheldon, fearful of further questions, “why didn't you wait for me?”
“I got hungry,” replied Agens.
“Then why don't you go in to breakfast?”
“I'm going. But I say, Deacon, did you go up to the rock?”
“Sure I did; clear to the top.”
“You were up to Old Sentinel, too, weren't you, Dorothy?” queried Maud sweetly. “That was the bet, you know.”
“Of course I was; I sat on top of it quite a while.”
“How queer that you shouldn't have seen Mr. Sheldon!”
“Very queer!” she assented dryly. “Suppose we go in to breakfast. Climbing gives one an appetite.”
“We've persuaded Mr. Van Valkenburg to give us a table together,” remarked Mrs. Roberts as they entered the dining-room. “One likes to be with one's friends.”
“Yes,” supplemented Mrs. Agens, “we were very glad to find it could be arranged. Will you sit here, Mr. Sheldon?”
Sheldon could not help smiling to find himself assigned a place next Miss Merton.
“I hope you will like the Catskills,” he remarked.
“I always have liked them.”
“You came last night?”
“Yes—from Westkill. I've been visiting some friends there for a few days.”
“She came up on the boat from New York Tuesday night,” remarked Maud innocently. “Wasn't that your boat, Mr. Sheldon?”
“Yes—the evening boat.”
“There were a great many people aboard,” said Miss Merton.
“And oh, Dorothy, what a funny adventure that was of yours as you were getting on the train at the Point!”
Miss Merton flushed, and Sheldon rather expected a stinging answer, but she controlled herself.
“Pray don't speak of it. I thought it anything but funny.”
“Old Deacon, here, had an adventure, too,” broke in Agens. “A lot of people took him for a bridegroom and showered him with rice.”
“Rock,” said Sheldon sternly, “I've protected you in this deceit till now, but I'll protect you no longer. Let me tell you how it was, good people. Here were this bride and groom, getting on the train, blushing, confused, stumbling over each other, with rice pattering in showers about them. It isn't wonderful if a few grains fell on the bystanders.”
Agens stared at him a moment, fairly speechless with astonishment.
“Why,” he sputtered—“why, you soulless prevaricator! They never saw us—they——”
“Rock, you pain me,” interrupted Sheldon sadly. “Don't do it. Tell the truth. What difference does it make now? Own up like a man!”
“Own up! Why, Deacon—Edith, I call you to witness ——”
“Oh, don't drag your wife into it! I don't see what all this fuss is about, anyway.”
“Neither do I,” agreed Miss Merton. “Suppose we change the subject. What shall we do to-day, girls?”
“Suppose we go up to the Notch, picnicking,” suggested Cecil. “Won't you come, Mr. Sheldon?”
Sheldon was opening his lips to accept when he caught a glance from the corner of his neighbor's eye.
“Thank you,” he stammered, “but I—I fear I can't. I've got some work to do.”
“Oh, tell that to the marines!” retorted Agens. “Of course you'll come.”
Sheldon's resolution was wavering; he felt that his strength was not equal to the task.
“We mustn't interfere with your work,” said his neighbor coldly. “You're quite right to refuse, Mr. Sheldon.”
Sheldon's spirits underwent a sudden numbing change.
“Of course I'm right,” he said, a little hotly. “I've been loitering too long already. You will excuse me,” and he arose from his place and left the room.
“Why, Dorothy Merton!” gasped Cecil, the first instant of amazement over. “How could you!”
“How could I what, Cecil?” asked Miss Merton smiling sweetly, though her eyes were bright with vexation.
“How could you be so rude to him?”
“Rude? But I wasn't. I merely remarked that he was right not to let us interfere with his work.”
Five minutes later Agens cornered Cecil Roberts at one end of the veranda.
“It's all off,” he said. “I wash my hands of it. She's not good enough for old Deacon.”
“I don't blame you for thinking so. I don't know what to make of it. She's not at all like herself.”
“Thank Heaven, the Deacon doesn't seem impressed,” added Agens fervently. “He's in no danger. Of course, they're the two that got the rice—I saw her that night when she got off at Shandaken—but the Deacon doesn't even remember her. Queer, isn't it?”
“Very queer,” assented Cecil, and walked thoughtfully away.
Meanwhile, Sheldon, puffing his pipe viciously in his room, was in an exceedingly ugly frame of mind. He had been snubbed cruelly, remorselessly, and it hurt. He heard the wagon driven around to the front of the house, the sound of girlish voices talking and laughing. Then there came a volley of good-byes and the wagon rattled away down the road.
For a moment a sudden hot desire for flight possessed him. Why not pack his trunk and leave the place before they returned?
“Why, I'm growing childish!” he said in dismay. “What's the matter with me? No, my friend, you won't behave like a baby. You'll stay right here and go to work like a man. This is good for you. You need a little sequestration. How about that great story you were going to write?”
He got out pen and paper, moved his table over near the window, filled a fresh pipe and fell to work. But the words seemed to fail him. For long moments he would stop and gaze out at the hillside opposite. At last he turned back, read what he had written, grimaced and tore it up furiously. He strode to the window and stood there, the very image of irritation.

### Chapter VI

WHEN Sheldon descended, some four hours later, he was surprised to find Roberts in the dining-room.
“Didn't you go with the picnic?” he asked.
“No, I didn't feel quite equal to it, sir,” answered the other. “The girls will get along very well, I dare say, under the care of Mrs. Roberts and Mr. Agens.”
“Oh, undoubtedly,” agreed Sheldon, and they took their seats.
“We're always glad to have Dorothy with us,” Roberts continued. “She teaches in New York, but quite at the other end of town from us, so we don't get to see her nearly so often as we'd like. She's a bright girl and a very brave one.'”
He told the story briefly while Sheldon listened—not an uncommon story of a girl, thrown upon her own resources by her father's failure and death, facing life as bravely as might be.
“Of course, we wanted her to come to us,” he added, “but she refused. I believe now that she was right, though I didn't then. If she had come her only escape from a feeling of dependency would have been marriage; now she doesn't need to think of that-until the right man comes along. She's kept a lot of her old friends, too. She's been visiting with the Hamertons, who own a big place just back of Westkill. They do say that young Luther Hamerton——”
“Do you know him?” asked Sheldon, despising himself for the question, but unable to suppress it.
“Yes—a very decent sort of young fellow. Will you join me in a cigar?”
They went out together and sat on the porch with their chairs tilted back in an attitude grotesquely rural; but Sheldon got no pleasure from his smoke. To enjoy tobacco one needs a quiet and contented mind, and he possessed neither at this moment. At last he excused himself and went back to his room.
“Well, my friend,” he began, “let's have this out. What difference can it make to you whether this young Hamerton's a nice fellow? Suppose you were fool enough to fall in love with a girl, what would you have to offer her? Would you have the nerve to ask her to share your two-by-four existence? I hope not; I hope you haven't rot that low! Well, and that being the case, are you going to mope around like a sick cur, or are you going to look things in the face and make the best of them with what manhood you've got?”
The clouds passed after a time; the sky cleared a little, and he was able to get to his work. Gradually he became absorbed in it; line followed line across the page; he did not notice how the light was failing until a knock at the door caused him to look up.
“May I come in?” asked Agens, coming in.
“Back, are you? Have a nice time?”
“Not a bit of it. There was something out of kelter somewhere. I say, Deacon,” he added, sitting down, “that Miss Merton is a stinger. Oh, how she poured it into me! Shot and shell—no quarter, though I cried for it! You should have seen my wife! You'd better come down if you want any supper. What are you looking so confoundedly self-satisfied about?”
“I've been doing good work, Rock,” said Sheldon, putting away his manuscript and donning his coat. “I wasn't quite sure it was in me.”
“Of course it's in you!” and Agens threw an arm affectionately around the Deacon's shoulders. “I've always known it!”
“Shut up, you blarney. What is it you're after?”
“Deacon,” said Agens, laughing, “I've been intrusted with a most important mission. We're to go boating again to-night—it's the only diversion the place offers—and I've been instructed to secure your valuable attendance. Will you come?”
“Yes, of course. Why shouldn't I?”
“No reason on earth why you shouldn't, except the stubbornness and contrariety of your nature. Well, that's off my mind. Come on down to supper.”
At the table Sheldon smiled to perceive that Miss Merton was not seated beside him. That place was taken by Cecil Roberts, and her cousin merely nodded to him from the other end of the board.
“Well, I hope you were punished!” Cecil began.
“Punished?”
“By a day of solitude and unpleasant meditations!”
“Oh, I had my bad moments,” he smiled; “but, on the whole, I did very well.”
“And you're shameless enough to admit it! Really, we missed you. You mustn't act so again.”
“Thank you. Absence seems to——”
“No, it doesn't. A second offense will not be pardoned. You're going with us to-night?”
“With pleasure.”
“And, Mr. Sheldon,” she added in a low tone, “don't judge her hastily.'”
“I don't judge her at all. Why should I?”
“Now you're provoking again.”
“What must I say?”
“Say nothing—if the right thing doesn't occur to you.”
Sheldon fell obediently silent and devoted himself to his food, while his companion observed him with a look between a smile and a frown.
“You're a most irritating man,” she said at last; “but you sha'n't discourage me.”
“Discourage?”
“No matter; only see that you're on hand to-night.”
“I'll be there,” he assured her; and he was.
It was again to Cecil's care that he was committed for the walk down to the lake. And he had a certain subtle pleasure in her companionship, which caused him to hold back a little—to loiter willfully—until the others were lost in the gloom ahead.
The night was cool and clear, with just the faintest breeze among the treetops, and they walked on silently, enjoying it. At last they came to the lake, where the others were waiting for them. He had a faint hope—and wondered at it somewhat—that she might continue his companion; but he saw in a moment that such was not the program and that it was beyond his power to alter it. So he watched with an appreciative eye the little piece of generalship which threw Miss Merton into his care.
“Maud and I are going with Mr. and Mrs. Agens,” announced Cecil. “We have plans to make.”
“And you two girls come with us,” added Mrs. Roberts to her younger daughters.
“So we have Hobson's choice, Miss Merton,” observed Sheldon. “May I help you in?”
“Oh, it's too absurd!”
“Why show them that we care? If we're merely acquaintances why should we care? You might tolerate me for half an hour. Suppose you try.”
Without answering she gave him the tips of her fingers and stepped into the boat. He followed her and pushed off. The other boats had already disappeared in the darkness.
“After all,” he said, as he took the oars, “it seems to me that I am entitled to some compensation.”
“For what?”
“For my being banished to-day.”
“Banished? You said that you had work to do.”
“But you knew better.”
“Didn't you have work to do?”
“None that was so pressing as all that.”
“Then why did you pretend?”
“I merely obeyed your command.”
“Command? I don't understand.”
“Oh, yes, you do,” he contradicted calmly. “You looked at me. I'm not so awfully obtuse. Why did you banish me?”
She gazed across the lake, smiling despite herself.
“Well, I—I want them to see that I dislike you.”
“Oh, then it isn't make-believe.” He was silent a moment. “I feared as much,” he added. “I'm a victim of circumstance. It isn't fair. It wasn't my fault that I should be the man. Why should I suffer for it?”
“I don't believe your sufferings are very acute,” she retorted. “Perhaps I was a little too sharp this morning. We mustn't overdo the thing, or they'll suspect something.”
“A polite indifference is what you're aiming at, I suppose,” he remarked.
“Precisely—polite indifference. That ought not to be difficult. Simply act as you feel.”
“Oh, if I did that!” began Sheldon, and stopped. “Can't we throw aside the mask in private?”
“You speak as though I were compelling you to play a part.”
“You are,” he returned boldly. “My feelings are quite the reverse of polite indifference.”
“Impolite interest, you mean? You would better land me, sir.”
“Oh, I say,” protested Sheldon, “is this a sample of what you gave 'The Rock' this afternoon? No wonder he was scorched! What did the poor fellow do?”
“He, too, displayed impolite interest.”
“But he's really the nicest fellow in the world. He couldn't mean anything.”
“He didn't mean anything, only this ridiculous plot seems to have blunted the finer faculties of all my friends.”
“May I ask,” he said deliberately, “just what you conceive this plot to be?”
“Oh, it's plain enough, isn't it? They're trying to throw us together—to create artificial opportunities—to stimulate interest——”
“And they're merely stimulating dislike? I really believe I would better go away. Perhaps we may meet again under more favorable conditions.”
“No, don't go; I suppose I shall get over it in time.”
“But I object to the handicap. Heaven knows, I'm handicapped enough by Nature without taking on any artificial weight!”
“But you can't blame me!” she cried. “Look about you—see how they have deserted us! Wouldn't it provoke you if you were a girl?”
“Yes, it would, Miss Merton,” said Sheldon seriously. “Why can't we speak to them?”
“What could we say?”
“'I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul!' Hands off!”
She laughed. It was the first time he had ever heard her laugh, and it thrilled through him.
“Do you know, Miss Merton,” he continued, with an irresistible impulse for confession, “when I first came here I misunderstood that family awfully! They were trying to be kind to me—Agens had told them what a lonely cuss I was—and I thought they—they——”
“Yes, I understand. Go on.”
“Well, when I found out what a contemptible idiot I had been there was a sort of reaction, you know. I fell in love with the whole family. And so I can forgive them a great deal. In fact, I'm rather glad to have something to forgive. It helps me get back my self-respect.”
She nodded. “I shouldn't mind so much, only——”
He was hanging on her words, when suddenly there came a jar against the boat, a ripping sound. He felt the water rising about his feet.
“Quick, step on the thwart!” he cried, and himself instantly stepped overboard. The water came barely to his waist.
The boat, relieved of his weight, surged up for a moment, then settled down again.
“Take my hand,” he said, “and step on the seat.”
She obeyed him instantly.
“The whole bottom seems to be ripped out of the boat,” he said; “it was probably rotten. There isn't any danger of drowning,” he added, “but there isn't any sense in your getting wet. I think I would better carry you to shore.”
“Indeed not! I'm no heroine in distress! I can wade.”
“Please don't,” he said, restraining her. “The boat will sink under your weight in a minute.”
“And I'll go down with the ship. I am the captain of my fate!”
Even as she spoke the boat surged and settled, with a jerk which almost overbalanced her. Instinctively she clung to him, and with a quick intaking of the breath he reached out and gathered her up in his arms.
“You sha'n't get wet!” he said hoarsely: “I won't permit it!” and he started toward the bank.
She did not answer, and held very still; but he could feel the hand upon his shoulder trembling. In a moment he gained the bank and set her gently down.
“I think I'm going to hate you!” she said, looking at him with blazing eyes.
For a moment Sheldon stared at her in astonishment.
Then a hot resentment swept over him.
“Shall I take you to the hotel?” he asked coldly.
“No; I prefer to go alone,” and she turned away.
Sheldon bowed, and waded back into the water.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, stopping.
“I'm going to bring the boat to shore,” he answered, without looking back.
He found it without difficulty, floating with gunwales awash, and towed it behind hes back to the landing. When he looked up after fastening it he saw Miss Merton standing where he had left her. She took a step toward him and stopped.
“The boat couldn't have gone over the dam?” she said.
“No.”
“Then why did you go after it?”
“I thought perhaps you would prefer the accident to remain undiscovered.”
He was carefully, frigidly polite. Her face changed as she looked at him, and again the corners of her mouth twitched.
“Will you go back to the house with me?” she asked.
“If you wish it.”
“I do wish it. My imagination peoples the night with terrors innumerable.”
“Oh, if you're afraid!” He bit his lips; after all, there was no excuse for rudeness. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but you're very unkind to me.”
“Why should I be merciful?”
“I don't ask mercy; justice is a different thing.”
“Even justice is difficult sometimes,” she pointed out. “I've had an irritating day. I've been mentally upset ever since that instant, this morning, when I looked down from Old Sentinel and saw you standing there. I've never been treated so before!”
“Neither have I,” he said promptly. “But was it really only this morning?”
“It seems longer, doesn't it?” she assented wearily.
“It seems a month—a year. Why, I've known you ever since I've known anybody. We ought not to go in yet; the night is too perfect.”
“But you're wet,” she protested. “Yes, we must go in.”
“I'm drying fast. Besides, on a night like this, what does it matter?”
“You seemed very much opposed to my getting wet.”
“Oh, you—that was quite different. Have you forgiven me?”
They had reached the steps leading to the porch, and she went up ahead of him before she answered.
“Not quite,” she said, looking down at him; “but I think I shall. Good-night,” and she fled indoors.
CONCLUDED IN THE JULY JOURNAL