There he was, waiting for us, and
splashing into the foam to help Cuthbert beach the boat--he for
whom a thousand years ago the skalds would have made a saga--
The b. y. hailed him cheerfully as we sprang out upon the sand.
But the Scotchman was unsmiling.
"Make haste after your tools, lad," he ordered. "We'll have fine
work now to get inside the cave before the turn."
Those were his words; his tone and his grim look meant, _So in
spite of all my care you are being beguiled by a minx_--
It was his tone that I answered.
"Oh, don't scold Mr. Vane!" I implored. "Every paradise has its
serpent, and as there are no others here I suppose I am it. Of
course all lady serpents who know their business have red hair.
Don't blame Mr. Vane for what was naturally all my fault."
Not a line of his face changed. Indeed, before my most vicious
stabs it never did change. Though of course it would have been
much more civil of him, and far less maddening, to show himself a
little bit annoyed.
"To be sure it seems unreasonable to blame the lad," he agreed
soberly, "but then he happens to be under my authority."
"Meaning, I suppose, that you would much prefer to blame _me_," I
choked.
"There's logic, no doubt, in striking at the root of the trouble,"
he admitted, with an air of calm detachment.
"Then strike," I said furiously, "strike, why don't you, and not
beat about the bush so!" Because then he would be quite hopelessly
in the wrong, and I could adopt any of several roles--the coldly
haughty, the wounded but forgiving, etc.
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