The Voice in the Fog (Chapter 7, page 1 of 6)


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Chapter 7

Third day out.

Kitty smiled at the galloping horizon; smiled at the sunny sky; smiled
at the deck-steward as he served the refreshing broth; smiled at the
tips of her sensible shoes, at her hands, at her neighbors: until Mrs.
Crawford could contain her curiosity no longer.

"Kitty Killigrew, what have you been doing?"

"Doing?"

"Well, going to do?"--shrewdly.

Kitty gazed at her friend in pained surprise, her blue eyes as innocent
as the sea--and as full of hidden mysterious things. "Good gracious!
can't a person be happy and smile?"

"Happy I have no doubt you are; but I've studied that smile of yours
too closely not to be alarmed by it."

"Well, what does it say?"

"Mischief."

Kitty did not reply to this, but continued smiling--at space this time.

On the ship crossing to Naples in February their chairs on deck had
been together; they had become acquainted, and this acquaintance had
now ripened into one of those intimate friendships which are really
sounder and more lasting than those formed in youth. Crawford had
heard of Killigrew as a great and prosperous merchant, and Killigrew
had heard of Crawford as a millionaire whose name was very rarely
mentioned in the society pages of the Sunday newspapers. Men recognize
men at once; it doesn't take much digging. Before they arrived in
Naples they had agreed to take the Sicilian trip together, then up
Italy, through France, to England. The scholar and the merchant at
play were like two boys out of school; the dry whimsical humor of the
Scotsman and the volatile sparkle of the Irishman made them capital
foils.

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