Wentworth had been walking about all morning like a lost spirit
apparently seeking what was not. 'It can't be,' he said to himself. No;
the thought was too horrible, and he dismissed it from his mind, merely
conjecturing that perhaps she was not an early riser, which was indeed
the case. No one who works on a morning newspaper ever takes advantage of
the lark's example.
'Well, Kenyon,' said Wentworth 'you look as if you were writing a poem,
or doing something that required deep mental agony.'
'The writing of poems, my dear Wentworth, I leave to you. I am doing
something infinitely more practical--something that you ought to be at.
I am thinking what we are to do with our mica-mine when we get it over
to London.'
'Oh, "sufficient for the day is the evil thereof,"' cried Wentworth
jauntily; 'besides, half an hour's thinking by a solid-brained fellow
like you is worth a whole voyage of my deepest meditation.'
'She hasn't appeared yet?' said Kenyon.
'No, dear boy; no, she has _not_. You see, I make no pretence with you as
other less ingenuous men might. No, she has _not_ appeared, and she has
not breakfasted.'
'Perhaps----' began Kenyon.
'No, no!' cried Wentworth; 'I'll have no "perhaps." I thought of that, but
I instantly dismissed the idea. She's too good a sailor.'
'It requires a very good sailor to stand this sort of thing. It looks so
unnecessary, too. I wonder what the ship is rolling about?'
'I can't tell, but she seems to be rolling about half over.
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