The Deaves Affair

"I suppose you're going back to put me ashore."

She did not answer.

He said in the same tone: "Corinna, I will not submit to such a humiliation a second time."

"You have brought it on yourself," she answered without looking at him.

"Just the same I will not submit to it."

"What are you going to do about it?" she asked scornfully.

"I'll go down to the little deck outside the entrance hall on the port, that is the left-hand side. I will wait for you there. If you do not come to me before we pass under Brooklyn Bridge, I'll jump overboard."

She looked at him startled and searchingly. "You can't frighten me that way," she said proudly.

"I'm not trying to frighten you. I'm making a simple statement. You know what it is to have a strong will. Very well, others may have as strong a will as your own. When I say a thing I'd die rather than go back on it."

Corinna paled, but would not weaken. "I am not your keeper," she said. "You must do as you will."

"Give me five minutes talk alone with you, and I'll go ashore willingly. That's all I came for."

"I will not come. You will only make a fool of yourself."

"Very well, you have your choice," said Evan. He turned and went down the stairway.

Back on his camp-stool on the narrow deck, he felt as a man must feel after burning his bridges, a little shaky. He knew the lengths to which a stubborn will may carry a person, and he was not at all sure of her coming. Not that he meant to draw back; he spoke truth in saying he would have died first; he was a good swimmer, and he had no serious doubt of his ability to reach the shore, but he did not fancy being dragged out on a pier drenched and shoeless, and having to give an account of himself. And in that case Corinna would win out anyway. The only way he could really get the better of her would be by committing suicide, and he was not prepared to go as far as that.

To save time the Ernestina passed through Buttermilk channel between Brooklyn and Governor's Island. On the New York side the slips of South Ferry and Hamilton Ferry passed before Evan's eyes, and a little later Wall street ferry. The bridge was not visible to him where he sat, but he knew it was looming close ahead; the next ferry-house, Fulton Ferry, was almost directly under it. Finally he got an oblique view of the approach to the bridge with the trolley cars and trucks crawling upon it, and he stooped over to untie his shoes.

Suddenly the Ernestina gave a little lurch, and he looked up to see what was the matter. She was swinging around again! She turned her tail to Brooklyn Bridge and started out to sea again. Certainly if anybody had been following her course that morning they would have been justified in supposing the Captain to be slightly demented.

Evan laced up his shoes. He grinned to himself in mixed satisfaction and chagrin. Corinna had found a way to evade the choice he had given her! True, she had prevented him from jumping overboard, but she had not come to him. Clearly she preferred to endure his presence on the boat all day rather than give him five minutes alone with her.

The only thing he could think of to bring her was the power of curiosity. Perhaps if he stayed where he was she would be forced in the end to come see what had happened to him. He determined to try it anyhow.

"But as soon as she looks out of the door and sees me safe, she'll fly back," he thought. He moved his stool around to the very stern of the Ernestina. Here he was invisible unless one came all the way round to see.

Here his patience was indeed put to a test. He had nothing to read – he could not have applied his mind to it, if he had had, and he dared not smoke for fear of betraying himself. All he could do was to sit and study the scenery. The Ernestina went back through Buttermilk channel, and rounded Red Hook. She passed the Erie basin where upon the boundary fence Evan had the edification of reading a sign half a mile long extolling the virtues of a certain English condiment. And they say the English are not enterprising! She crossed the mouth of Gowanus bay and passed the villas of Bay Ridge, and still nothing happened.

But as she approached the Narrows, Evan thought he heard one of the sliding doors squeak, and his heart leaped. Jumping up he flattened himself against the deck house. There was an agonising pause. If only he dared peep around the side. Then Corinna came plump into view.

At sight of him a sharp exclamation escaped her. She hung motionless for a moment, her face fixed in a comical mask of surprise and indignation, like a child's, then she turned to run.

"Wait!" cried Evan peremptorily.

She saw that he could seize her before she gained the door. She had learned the folly of running from him. So she stood still. Drawing herself up she said:

"I have nothing to say to you. I only wished to make sure that you had not done anything foolish."

Evan glanced at the shores. Staten Island was the nearer – less than half a mile. "It is not too late," he said.

"Overboard I go," said Evan, "unless you stop here and talk to me as if I were a Christian."

She smiled scornfully.

"I shall not be fooled a second time," she said.

"You were not fooled the first time," he said quietly. He bent down and started to unlace his shoes.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Can't swim with my shoes on," Evan said without looking up.

He heard her catch her breath, but her voice was still inflexible. "Do you think me so simple!"

"I don't think at all," said Evan with his hand on the rail. "I give you your choice. Will you stop and talk to me like a reasonable being for five minutes."

Their hard eyes battled furiously, and neither pair would down. "No!" she said, though her lips were white.

He glanced down at the water boiling from under the Ernestina's counter, and gathered himself for the spring.

The glance was too much for Corinna. "Evan! Evan!" she cried sharply, and put her hands out.

In a trice he had her in his arms.

"Ah, don't kiss me!" she begged, even while her lips surrendered to his.

"Ah, you nearly let me go!" murmured Evan.

"I would have gone too!"

"Then we'd both have drowned. I couldn't carry you all that way."

"I wouldn't have cared."

"I'd rather live with you, you beautiful thing! Why do you want to kill us both?"

She tore herself from his arms. "I can't help myself. This is only torment."

"But why? why? I'm of age. I have a right to know, to judge for myself. What comes between us?"

"I cannot tell you."

"And do you expect me to let you go on your mere say-so? No, by God! Not while I live!"

"You must let me go!"

"Is it a sin for you to love me?"