"We are all of us adventurers
in this world, and I more than you. We have just to consider ourselves,
not what we have or have not."
"So be it, Miss Clifford. Then I have nothing more to say; now it is for
you to answer."
Just then the sound of the piano and the fiddle in the saloon ceased.
One of the waltzes was over, and some of the dancers came upon deck to
flirt or to cool themselves. One pair, engaged very obviously in the
former occupation, stationed themselves so near to Robert and Benita
that further conversation between them was impossible, and there
proceeded to interchange the remarks common to such occasions.
For a good ten minutes did they stand thus, carrying on a mock quarrel
as to a dance of which one of them was supposed to have been defrauded,
until Robert Seymour, generally a very philosophical person, could have
slain those innocent lovers. He felt, he knew not why, that his chances
were slipping away from him; that sensation of something bad about to
happen, of which Benita had spoken, spread from her to him. The suspense
grew exasperating, terrible even, nor could it be ended. To ask her to
come elsewhere was under the circumstances not feasible, especially as
he would also have been obliged to request the other pair to make way
for them, and all this time, with a sinking of the heart, he felt that
probably Benita was beating down any tenderness which she might feel
towards him; that when her long-delayed answer did come the chances were
it would be "No.
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