“And here you are!” Keith cried.  “Aboard the Minerva.”

iv

He led her to a door, and down three steps.  And then it seemed to Jenny as if Paradise burst upon her.  She had never before seen such a room as this cabin.  It was a room such as she had dreamed about in those ambitious imaginings of a wondrous future which had always been so vaguely irritating to Emmy.  It seemed, partly because the ceiling was low, to be very spacious; the walls and ceiling were of a kind of dusky amber hue; a golden brown was everywhere the prevailing tint.  The tiny curtains, the long settees into which one sank, the chairs, the shades of the mellow lights—­all were of some variety of this delicate golden brown.  In the middle of the cabin stood a square table; and on the table, arrayed in an exquisitely white tablecloth, was laid a wondrous meal.  The table was laid for two:  candles with amber shades made silver shine and glasses glitter.  Upon a fruit stand were peaches and nectarines; upon a tray she saw decanters; little dishes crowding the table bore mysterious things to eat such as Jenny had never before seen.  Upon a side table stood other dishes, a tray bearing coffee cups and ingredients for the provision of coffee, curious silver boxes.  Everywhere she saw flowers similar to those which had been in the motor car.  Under her feet was a carpet so thick that she felt her shoes must be hidden in its pile.  And over all was this air of quiet expectancy which suggested that everything awaited her coming.  Jenny gave a deep sigh, glanced quickly at Keith, who was watching her, and turned away, her breath catching.  The contrast was too great:  it made her unhappy.  She looked down at her skirt, at her hands; she thought of her hat and her hidden shoes.  She thought of Emmy, the bread and butter pudding, of Alf Rylett ... of Pa lying at home in bed, alone in the house.

v

Keith drew her forward slightly, until she came within the soft radiance of the cabin lights.

“I say, it is sporting of you to come!” he said.  “Let’s have a look at you—­do!”

They stood facing one another.  Keith saw Jenny, tall and pale, looking thin in her shabby dress, but indescribably attractive and beautiful even in her new shyness.  And Jenny saw the man she loved:  her eyes were veiled, but they were unfathomably those of one deeply in love.  She did not know how to hide the emotions with which she was so painfully struggling.  Pride and joy in him; shyness and a sort of dread; hunger and reserve—­Keith might have read them all, so plainly were they written.  Yet her first words were wounded and defiant.

“The man ... that man....  He knew I was coming,” she said, in a voice of reproach.  “You were pretty sure I should come, you know.”

Keith said quietly: 

“I hoped you would.”  And then he lowered his eyes.  She was disarmed, and they both knew.