Tired of reading? Add this page to your Bookmarks or Favorites and finish it later.
|
|
In these and a thousand ways Sheldon was made aware of how much he
was indebted for material prosperity to Joan--to the slender,
level-browed girl with romance shining out of her gray eyes and
adventure shouting from the long-barrelled Colt's on her hip, who
had landed on the beach that piping gale, along with her stalwart
Tahitian crew, and who had entered his bungalow to hang with boy's
hands her revolver-belt and Baden-Powell hat on the nail by the
billiard table. He forgot all the early exasperations, remembering
only her charms and sweetnesses and glorying much in the traits he
at first had disliked most--her boyishness and adventurousness, her
delight to swim and risk the sharks, her desire to go recruiting,
her love of the sea and ships, her sharp authoritative words when
she launched the whale-boat and, with firestick in one hand and
dynamite-stick in the other, departed with her picturesque crew to
shoot fish in the Balesuna; her super-innocent disdain for the
commonest conventions, her juvenile joy in argument, her
fluttering, wild-bird love of freedom and mad passion for
independence. All this he now loved, and he no longer desired to
tame and hold her, though the paradox was the winning of her
without the taming and the holding.
There were times when he was dizzy with thought of her and love of
her, when he would stop his horse and with closed eyes picture her
as he had seen her that first day, in the stern-sheets of the
whale-boat, dashing madly in to shore and marching belligerently
along his veranda to remark that it was pretty hospitality this
letting strangers sink or swim in his front yard. And as he opened
his eyes and urged his horse onward, he would ponder for the ten
thousandth time how possibly he was ever to hold her when she was
so wild and bird-like that she was bound to flutter out and away
from under his hand.
It was patent to Sheldon that Tudor had become interested in Joan.
That convalescent visitor practically lived on the veranda, though,
while preposterously weak and shaky in the legs, he had for some
time insisted on coming in to join them at the table at meals. The
first warning Sheldon had of the other's growing interest in the
girl was when Tudor eased down and finally ceased pricking him with
his habitual sharpness of quip and speech. This cessation of
verbal sparring was like the breaking off of diplomatic relations
between countries at the beginning of war, and, once Sheldon's
suspicions were aroused, he was not long in finding other
confirmations. Tudor too obviously joyed in Joan's presence, too
obviously laid himself out to amuse and fascinate her with his own
glorious and adventurous personality. Often, after his morning
ride over the plantation, or coming in from the store or from
inspection of the copra-drying, Sheldon found the pair of them
together on the veranda, Joan listening, intent and excited, and
Tudor deep in some recital of personal adventure at the ends of the
earth.
|