Page:Barbour--Peggy in the rain.djvu/207

 "She wouldn't marry me?"

"Er—no, not at all, old man! Nothing as—as vulgar."

"Then what?"

Peter sought desperately for words. "Well—er—only that she—she'd die an old maid!"

"Thanks! I feel better," Gordon laughed. "Anyway, I'm glad your doubts are laid at rest, Pete. Otherwise I suppose you'd have gone through life viewing me with black suspicion, eh?"

"Rot! That's not it at all. Only what bothered me was how the deuce she could care anything for me, do you see, if—if she cared for you. I dare say I was an ass to believe what I heard."

"You were, Peter. Have a fresh drink?"

"No, thanks. You see, I'm just getting that liver of mine out of pickle, and I don't—what's that?" Peter struggled to his feet, beaming as Mrs. Morrill and Leona came out on deck. They were both dressed for shore.

"Oh, here you are, Mr. Ames," said Mrs. Morrill. "I thought perhaps you had both gone on shore and left us alone away out here on the ocean. Thanks, Peter, but I shall take this straight chair. It isn't so hard to get out of. Mr. Ames, do you