Had the consul expected any embarrassment or lover-like consciousness
on the face of Mr. Gray at their unexpected meeting, he would have been
disappointed. Nor was the young man's greeting of father and daughter,
whom he addressed as Mr. and Miss Callender, marked by any tenderness or
hesitation. On the contrary, a certain seriousness and quiet reticence,
unlike Gray, which might have been borrowed from his new friends,
characterized his speech and demeanor. Beyond this freemasonry of sad
repression there was no significance of look or word passed between
these two young people. The girl's voice retained its even pathos.
Gray's grave politeness was equally divided between her and her father.
He corroborated what Callender had said of his previous visits without
affectation or demonstration; he spoke of the possibilities of his
fitting up the yacht for the fishing season with a practical detail and
economy that left the consul's raillery ineffective. Even when, after
dinner, the consul purposely walked out in the garden with the father,
Gray and Ailsa presently followed them without lingering or undue
precipitation, and with no change of voice or manner. The consul was
perplexed. Had the girl already told Gray of her lover across the sea,
and was this singular restraint their joint acceptance of their fate;
or was he mistaken in supposing that their relations were anything more
than the simple friendship of patron and protegee? Gray was rich enough
to indulge in such a fancy, and the father and daughter were too proud
to ever allow it to influence their own independence. In any event the
consul's right to divulge the secret he was accidentally possessed
of seemed more questionable than ever. Nor did there appear to be any
opportunity for a confidential talk with Gray, since it was proposed
that the whole party should return to the yacht for supper, after
which the consul should be dropped at the pier-head, distant only a few
minutes from his hotel, and his horse sent to him the next day.