"I've taken the man I want--as all the Lashcairns do
unless they are like Aunt Janet and--Oh, anyway, I'd rather be killed
than be like her. It's rather illogical to growl at my choice the minute
I've made it."
Before she could stop herself she was out of the cabin; she did not stop
to think that Louis might be embarrassed: she dashed into his cabin. He
was fastening his tie.
"Louis," she cried, and stopped breathless. He seemed very different as
she looked over his shoulder into the mirror. Cold water had removed the
traces of a week's neglect; the razor had done a good deal, too, and a
clean suit had transformed him. His eyes were different: there was a
light of resolution in them and they met hers direct. She scarcely knew
him.
"Hello!" he said and let the tie hang as he stared at her.
"Where's the other man who used to sleep in here?" she asked. That was
not what she had intended to say when she came in.
"He's gone. He was on the way to Cairo. I've got it to myself now."
"Oh--"
"Marcella," he said solemnly. "You really mean it? You're not going to
let me down? Violet let me down--and I'm always letting people down. I
can't trust people now."
"Supposing I'd wanted to marry Violet, I'd have married her," she said,
her brow puckered. "And I wouldn't _be_ let down."
"No, I suppose you wouldn't," he said, slowly.
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