The Secret of the Reef

“Aynsley,” she said, “I’m more sorry than I can tell you; but you really must put me out of your mind.”

“It’s going to be difficult,” he answered grimly. “But I believe you like me a little?”

“I think the trouble is that I like you too much – but not in the way that you wish.”

“I understand. I’ve been too much of a comrade. But if I were very patient, you might, perhaps, get to like me in the other way?”

“It would be too great a risk, Aynsley.”

“I’ll take it and never blame you if you find the thing too hard.” The eagerness suddenly died out of his voice. “But that would be very rough on you – to be tied to a man – ” He broke off and was silent for a moment before he looked up at her with grave tenderness. “Ruth dear, is it quite hopeless?”

“I’m afraid so,” she said softly, but with a note in her voice which Aynsley could not misinterpret.

“Very well,” he acquiesced bravely. “I have to fight this thing, but you shall have no trouble on my account. I find the light rather strong out here; if you will excuse me, I think I’ll go in.”

Rising with obvious weakness, he moved off toward the house; and Ruth, realizing that he had been prompted by consideration for her, sat still and wondered why she had refused him. He was modest, brave, unselfish, and cheerful; indeed, in character and person he was all that she admired; but she could not think of him as her husband. She pondered it, temporizing, half afraid to be quite honest with herself, until in a flash the humiliating truth was plain and she blushed with shame and anger. The love she could not give Aynsley had already been given, unasked, to another who had gone away and forgotten her.

She knew little about him, and she knew Aynsley well. Aynsley was rich, and Jimmy was obviously poor – he might even have other disadvantages; but she felt that this was relatively of small importance. Somehow he belonged to her, and, though she struggled against the conviction, she belonged to him. That was the end of the matter.

Growing cooler, she began to reason, and saw that she had blamed herself too hastily. After all, though Jimmy had made no open confession, he had in various ways betrayed his feelings, and there was nothing to prove that he had forgotten her. Poverty might have bound him to silence; moreover, there was reason to believe that he was away in a lonely region, cut off from all communication with the outer world. Perhaps he often thought about her; but these were futile speculations, and banishing them with an effort she went into the house.

The next day Clay found Ruth sitting on the veranda.

“So you would not have my boy!” he said abruptly.

“Has he told you?” she asked with some embarrassment.

“Oh, no! But I’m not a fool, and his downcast look was hint enough. I don’t know if you’re pleased to hear he has taken the thing to heart. It ought to be flattering.”

“I’m very sorry.” Ruth’s tone was indignant. “I think you are unjust.”

“And showing pretty bad taste? Well, I’m not a man of culture, and I’m often unpleasant when I’m hurt. I suppose you know the boy had set his whole mind on getting you? But of course you knew it, perhaps for some time; you wouldn’t be deceived on a point like that.”

“I can’t see what you expect to gain by trying to bully me!” Ruth flashed at him angrily, for her conscience pricked her.

Clay laughed with harsh amusement. He had broken many clever and stubborn men who had stood in his way, and this inexperienced girl’s defiance tickled him.

“My dear,” he said, “I’m not trying to do anything of the kind. If I were, I’d go about it on a very different plan. Aynsley’s a good son, a straight man without a grain of meanness, and you could trust him with your life.”

“Yes,” she answered softly, “I know. I’m very sorry – I can’t say anything else.”

Clay pondered for a few moments. Her frank agreement disarmed him, but he could not understand his forbearance. He had won Aynsley’s mother in the face of the determined opposition of her relatives, and there was a primitive strain in him. Had all this happened when he was younger he would have urged his son to carry Ruth off by force, and now, although the times had changed, there were means by which she could, no doubt, be compelled to yield. Still, although he was not scrupulous, and it might be done without Aynsley’s knowledge, he would not consider it. She had saved the boy’s life, and he had, moreover, a strange respect for her.

“Well,” he conceded, “you look as if you knew your mind, and I guess Aynsley must make the best of it.”

Ruth was relieved when he left her, but she was also puzzled by a curious feeling that she was no longer afraid of him. In spite of his previous declaration of gratitude, she had dreaded his resentment; and now that uneasiness had gone. He had said nothing definite to reassure her, but she felt that while he regretted her refusal, she could look upon him as a friend instead of a possible enemy.

During the evening she told her father, who had been absent for a day or two.

“I am not surprised,” he said; “I even hoped you would take him. However, it’s too late now, and if you hadn’t much liking for Aynsley I wouldn’t have urged you.”

“I was sure of that,” Ruth said with an affectionate glance.

“How did Clay take your refusal of his son?”

“I think he took it very well. He paid me a compliment as he went away.”

She noticed her father’s look of relief, and it struck her as being significant.

“You have reason to feel flattered,” he said, “because Clay’s apt to make trouble when he is thwarted. For all that, it’s unfortunate your inclinations didn’t coincide with his wishes.”

“Why?” Ruth asked sharply.

Osborne looked amused at her bluntness.

“Well, I really think Aynsley has a good deal to recommend him: money, position, pleasant manners, and an estimable character. Since you’re not satisfied, it looks as if you were hard to please.”

“I have no fault to find with him,” Ruth answered with a blush. “Still, one doesn’t make up a list of the good qualities one’s husband ought to have.”

“It might not be a bad plan,” Osborne said humorously; “anyway, if you could find a man to meet the requirements.” He dropped his bantering manner. “I’m sorry you dismissed Aynsley, but if you are satisfied that it was best, there’s no more to be said.”

He turned away, and Ruth pondered what she had heard. It was plain that her father shrank from offending Clay; and that seemed to confirm the vague but unpleasant suspicions she had entertained about their business relations. Somehow she felt that not yet had she got at the bottom of her father’s dealings with that man.

CHAPTER XVI – A GHOST OF THE PAST

It was the evening before Aynsley’s departure, and he and Clay and the Osbornes were sitting on the veranda. Not a breath of wind was stirring, and the inlet stretched back, smooth as oil and shining in the evening light. The tops of the tall cedars were motionless; not a ripple broke upon the beach; the only sound was the soft splash of water somewhere among the trees.

The heat had been trying all day, and Aynsley glanced languidly at the faint white line of snow that rose above the silver mist in the blue distance.

“It would be cool up there, and that snow makes one long for the bracing North,” he said. “This is one of the occasions when I don’t appreciate being a mill owner. To-morrow I’ll be busy with dusty books, in a stifling office that rattles with the thumping of engines.”

“It’s good for a man to work,” Miss Dexter remarked.

“No doubt, but it has its disadvantages now and then, as you would agree if a crowd of savage strikers had chased you about your mill. Then, if it weren’t for my business ties, I’d send the captain word to get steam up on the yacht, and take you all to the land of mist and glaciers, where you can get fresh air to breathe.”

“Wouldn’t you miss the comforts, though I dare say you call them necessities, that surround you here? One understands that people live plainly in Alaska.”

Miss Dexter indicated the beautifully made table which stood within reach, set out with glasses and a big silver tankard holding iced liquor. Round this, choice fruit from California was laid on artistic plates.

“We could take some of them along; and we’re not so luxurious as you think,” Aynsley replied. “In fact, I feel just now that I’d rather live on canned goods and splash about in the icy water, like some fishermen we met, than sit in my sweltering office, worrying over accounts and labor troubles.”

“Those fishermen seem to stick in your memory,” Ruth interposed.

“Is it surprising? You must admit that they roused even your curiosity, and you hadn’t my excuse because you hadn’t seen them.”

“What fishermen were they?” Clay asked.

Ruth wished she had not introduced the subject.