Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

I

           

           “Notfortwohours?Howlucky—thenIcanfindmytrunk!”

           OrdinarilyDarrowwouldhavefeltlittledisposedtoinvolvehimselfintheadventureofayoungfemalewhohadlosthertrunk;butatthemomenthewasgladofanypretextforactivity.EvenshouldhedecidetotakethenextuptrainfromDoverhestillhadayawninghourtofill;andtheobviousremedywastodevoteittothelovelinessindistressunderhisumbrella.

           “You’velostatrunk?LetmeseeifIcanfindit.”

           Itpleasedhimthatshedidnotreturntheconventional“Oh,wouldyou?”Instead,shecorrectedhimwithalaugh—“Notatrunk,butmytrunk;I’venoother—”andthenaddedbriskly:“You’dbetterfirstseetogettingyourownthingsontheboat.”

           Thismadehimanswer,asiftogivesubstancetohisplansbydiscussingthem:“Idon’tactuallyknowthatI’mgoingover.”

           “Notgoingover?”

           “Well...perhapsnotbythisboat.”Againhefeltastealingindecision.“ImayprobablyhavetogobacktoLondon.I’m—I’mwaiting...expectingaletter...(She’llthinkmeadefaulter,”hereflected.)“Butmeanwhilethere’splentyoftimetofindyourtrunk.”

           Hepickeduphiscompanion’sbundles,andofferedheranarmwhichenabledhertopressherslightpersonmorecloselyunderhisumbrella;andas,thuslinked,theybeattheirwaybacktotheplatform,pulledtogetherandapartlikemarionettesonthewiresofthewind,hecontinuedtowonderwherehecouldhaveseenher

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