The Beloved Stranger - By Grace Livingston Hill Page 0,59
him, show him that he could not order her about. Would she be able to carry it out?
For another half hour she asked questions about the people at home, questions in which she had not the slightest interest, but which she knew would bring forth voluble answers, long enough to protect her from having to say much back. Hurley was delighted. In all his acquaintance with her taken altogether, he had never had this much speech of her. He admired her greatly and was tremendously flattered that she had stayed to talk with him. He was so flattered that he forgot Carter’s insulting tone.
When Arla had finally ceased to tremble and felt that she had sufficient control of herself to carry out the program she had planned for herself, she arose sweetly.
“Well, now, I really must go to that longsuffering husband of mine,” she said, smiling. “It’s been so nice to meet you again, to hear all the news from home, and to know you’re going to have such a lovely trip.” And then she was gone, and Hurley knew that he was dropped as definitely as she had always dropped him in the old days when he brought her candy and she accepted it graciously, but always had a reason why she couldn’t go to the movies with him.
Hurley went and stood by himself, staring off at the sea and wondering why it was. Here he had been having as nice a time with her as anyone would need to ask to have, and all of a sudden he was out of it, just out! That was all! He knew as well as if she had told him that he wouldn’t likely come in contact with either of them the rest of the voyage. Oh, maybe meet and bow or something like that, but nothing more. And here he had been fool enough to fancy that now that he had money enough to take a trip abroad, they would be friendly and he would have somebody to talk to now and then, just be friendly with anytime he liked! Well, maybe it was just his imagination. He decided he’d forget it. Probably they’d be all right the next time he met them. Maybe he’d try to get at their table, and then they’d have to be friendly.
When Arla reached the stateroom, Carter was not there. She was likely being punished. So she put on one of Sherrill’s prettiest negligees and lay down to rest. That is, her body was resting, but her mind was madly working. She was looking life in the face, realizing all sorts of possibilities. Well, that other girl had been right. It was no enviable path she had chosen for herself, but having chosen it, being married, the thing she had so much desired, she must make it a success if that were a possible thing to do. She had not attained her wish unless she was able to hold him. And she saw keenly enough that this was the crucial time. What she did now would count through the years. Oh, for wisdom to know what was the best thing to do!
Carter did not return to the stateroom until it was nearly time for dinner. He found Arla attired in black satin and looking fairly regal, putting the last touches to her facial expression. She turned an indifferent glance at him, and in spite of his smoldering anger, he was startled at her beauty. Sherrill had never been more beautiful! Arla certainly was a stunning-looking woman. There was some satisfaction in that for the future. If he ever pulled through this hard time, he could be proud of her. There was an air about her that he had never seen before, a certain smartness that he had always admired in Sherrill. He did not realize that Arla was wearing one of Sherrill’s outfits which was the work of an artist and had cost a fabulous sum. He simply saw that Arla was looking more wonderful than he had ever seen her look before. For a moment he was almost ready to forgive her and take her into his arms. Then she turned and gave him a haughty indifferent glance and his anger boiled again.
“What are you all rigged up like that for?” he snarled, even while his eyes gloated over the lovely curves of her throat and white shoulders. “You’re not planning to do what I forbade you to do—?”