The Other World. Frank Frankfort Moore

say it again,” she cried, almost piteously. “You must never speak to me of love; I have promised to love only Jack—Mr. Norgate.”

      “What—you have promised?—you have——”

      “It only happened after tiffin to-day. I thought perhaps he might have told you—I thought perhaps you noticed that he and I—oh yes, you certainly behaved as if you took it for granted that … ah, I am so sorry that you misunderstood. … I think that I must have loved him from the first.”

      There was another long pause. He looked down into the gleaming water that rushed along the side of the ship. Then she laid one of her hands on his, saying—

      “Believe me, Mr. Somers, I am sorry—oh, so sorry!”

      He took her hand tenderly, looking into her face as he said—

      “My dear child, you have no reason to be sorry: I know Jack Norgate well, and I know that a better fellow does not live: you will be happy with him, I am sure. And as for me—well, I suppose I was a bit of a fool to think that you——”

      “Do not say that,” she cried. “I am not worthy of you—I am not worthy of him. Oh, who am I that I should break up such a friendship as yours and his? I begin to wish that I had never come aboard this steamer.”

      “Do not flatter yourself that you have come between us, my dear,” he said, with a little laugh. “Oh no; ‘shall I, wasting with despair?’—well, I think not. Men don’t waste with despair except on the lyric stage. My dear girl, he has won you fairly, and I congratulate him; and you—yes, I congratulate you. He is a white man, as they say on the Great Pacific slope. Listen to that banjo! Confound it! I wonder shall I ever be able to listen to the banjo again. … Shall we join the revellers in the saloon?”

      They went into the saloon together, and took seats on a vacant sofa. Some people eyed them suspiciously and said that Miss Compton was having an exceedingly good time aboard the yacht.

      Later on, Somers congratulated his friend very sincerely, and his friend accepted his congratulations in a very tolerant spirit.

      “Oh yes,” he said. “I suppose it’s what every chap must come to sooner or later. Viola is far better than I deserve—than any chap deserves.”

      “It’s a very poor sort of girl that isn’t better than the best chap deserves, and although I think you are the best chap in the world, I should be sorry to think that Miss Compton has not made a wise choice. May you be happy together!”

      “Thank you, old chap. I must confess to you frankly that some days ago I thought that you——”

      “That I?”

      “Well, that you had a certain tendresse for her yourself.”

      “I! Oh, your judgment must have been warped by a lover’s jealousy. ‘The thief doth think each bush an officer’—the lover fancies that every man’s taste must be the same as his own. May you both be happy!”

      It seemed that his prayer was granted so far at least as the next day was concerned, for certainly no two people could appear happier than the lovers, as they sat together under the awning, watching half a dozen of their fellow-passengers perspiring over their golf.

      Mrs. Compton—she was an invalid taking the cruise for her health’s sake—was compelled to remain in her berth all day, but Jack Norgate visited her with her daughter after tiffin and doubtless obtained the maternal blessing, for when he came on deck alone in the afternoon his face was beaming as Moses’ face beamed on one occasion. There was a slight tornado about dinner-time and the vessel rolled about so as to necessitate the use of the “fiddles” on the table. It continued blowing and raining until darkness set in, so that the smoking-room was crowded, and three bridge-parties assembled in the chief saloon as well as a poker-party and a chess-party. Four bells had just been made, when one of the stewards startled all the saloon by crying out of the pantries—

      “Coming, sir!”

      A moment afterwards he hurried into the saloon, putting on his jacket, and looked round as if waiting to receive an order. The passengers glanced at him and laughed.

      “What’s the matter?” asked the doctor.

      “Didn’t some one call me, sir?” the man inquired.

      “Not that we heard,” replied the doctor.

      “I thought I heard some one sing out, sir,” said the steward, looking round.

      “It must have been some one on deck,” suggested Colonel Mydleton. “Shall I cut the cards for you, doctor?”

      The steward went on deck. He was met by Mr. Somers, who, in reply to the man’s inquiry, said—

      “Call you? No, I didn’t call you.”

      “The infant Samuel,” said one of the poker players, and the others at the table laughed.

      “It’s raining cats and dogs, or whatever the equivalent to cats and dogs is in these parallels,” said Somers. “I got wet watching the Bluebottle show a clean pair of heels to a tramp. She’s in our wake just now. I think I’ll turn into my berth.”

      He went to the bar and called for a brandy-and-soda, and then sang out “Good night,” as he hurried to his cabin.

      The next morning Miss Compton appeared at the breakfast table, and so did Somers, but Norgate had clearly overslept himself, for he was absent. The captain inquired for him.

      “He must be on deck, sir,” said one of the stewards, “for he was not in his cabin when I went with his chocolate an hour ago.”

      “Oh, he’ll turn up before we have finished breakfast,” said Somers, attacking his devilled kidneys.

      But his prediction was not realised. A pantry boy was sent on deck in search of Mr. Norgate, but Mr. Norgate was not to be found. A steward hurried to his cabin, but returned in a few minutes, saying that his bunk had not been slept in. The captain rose from the table with a well-simulated laugh. A search was organised. It failed to find him. The awful truth had to be faced: Mr. Norgate was not aboard. Viola Compton was hysterical. Teddy Somers was silent; no one had ever seen him so deathly pale before.

      Theories were forthcoming to account for Norgate’s suicide—people took it for granted, of course, that he had committed suicide. Only one person suggested the possibility of his having fallen overboard, and of his cry being that which the steward had heard, for a part of the pantry was open on the starboard side. But against this it was urged that Mr. Somers must have been on deck at the time the steward had heard, or had fancied he heard, that cry, and Mr. Somers said he had heard nothing.

      For a week the gloom hung over the whole party; but by the time the Cape was reached, Miss Compton was able to appear at the table once more. She looked heartbroken; but every one said she was bearing up wonderfully. Only the poet had the bad taste to offer her his sympathy through the medium of a sonnet.

      On leaving the Cape the bereaved girl seemed to find a certain plaintive consolation in the society of Mr. Somers. He sat beside her in his deck chair, and they talked together about poor Jack Norgate; but after a week or two, steaming from Bombay to Ceylon, and thence through the Straits to Sydney, they began to talk about other subjects, and before long the girl began visibly to brighten. The passengers said she was a woman.

      And she proved that they were right, for when one lovely night Teddy Somers suggested very delicately to her that his affection for her was the same as it had always been, there was more than a little reproach in her voice as she cried—

      “Oh, stop—stop—for Heaven’s sake! My love is dead—buried with him. I cannot hear any one talk to me of love.”

      He pressed her hand and left her without another word.

      She remained in her deck chair far removed from the rest