“I understand that. They wanted me to go on the stage when I was a boy, but I could not sing that way.”
“Oh.” She turned warmly to him. She was craving to have him talk about himself. “But you sang one night in the hotel.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you go on?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Did you want me to?”
“Of course.”
They both looked out over the gray sea for some minutes.
“You know dad pretty well, don’t you?” she began again.
“I’ve met him several times. He’s a ripping good sport.”
“Yes, isn’t he quite something of a father? He and I always stood together. I don’t know where I would have been but for him. It was he and I against the rest of them. The relatives, you know. Awful bunch! Awful!”
She felt the smile playing about his face.
“Didn’t you run away from them once, or something?” He was curious now to hear her version of the tale.
“Why, where did you hear that?”
“I was in New Zealand at the time, on a visit in the South Island. And the story stuck in my memory along with your name. It was quite an adventure, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” she laughed.
“Do tell me about it.”
“It is a long story.”
“Well, what of that? I want to hear it.”
She felt warm and excited at his interest. “It was more than an adventure,” she began, “it was a crisis. It was my last stand for liberty.”
