When Myra, having recovered herself, went from her state-room into the
saloon a little later, it was to find that Don Carlos had, so to speak,
"spiked her guns," had she intended to denounce him as being
responsible for the "accident" to Tony.
The captain of the Killarney, it appeared, had held an inquiry as to
who was responsible for having left the rail unfastened and charged two
members of the crew with neglect. On learning this, Don Carlos had at
once interviewed the captain and taken the blame upon himself,
explaining that he remembered fingering the bolt while he was talking,
and doubtless unfastened it.
He had told his fellow guests the same thing when they praised and
complimented him for his gallant rescue.
"Don Carlos is a true sportsman," said one of the men of the party to
Myra. "My own opinion is that he has made up the yarn about
unfastening the bolt, just to prevent us making too much of a hero of
him and to save any of the crew from getting into trouble. He has been
in to see Tony, I hear, told him it was all his fault and asked him to
accept his apologies. Of course, his idea is to try to prevent Tony
from thanking him. But I guess you will thank him, Miss Rostrevor!"
"Perhaps it would please him better if I reproached him," responded
Myra, whereat her companion laughed.
Don Carlos was seated opposite her at lunch, but Myra did not attempt
either to thank or blame him, deciding to wait until he himself
referred to the "accident," and discover, if possible, what was in his
mind.
After lunch, most of the other members of the party settled down to
spend the afternoon playing bridge, but Myra went on deck and ensconced
herself in a comfortable chair in a sheltered spot to read and think.
She had not been there more than a few minutes when Don Carlos appeared
beside her chair with a cushion in his hand. Without a word he tossed
the cushion down on the boat-deck at Myra's feet, sat down on it, and
rested his dark head against Myra's knees. He did it all so
deliberately and with such calm assurance that Myra was somehow amused
in spite of herself and laughed involuntarily.
"Evidently the poor man is so overcome by sea-sickness that he doesn't
know what he is doing and needs a nurse!" she exclaimed. "Shall I call
for a steward?"
She slewed her chair round as she spoke, and laughed again as Don
Carlos, suddenly deprived of the support of her knees, fell backward.
He did not seem in the least disconcerted, however, and merely rolled
over on his side, supported his head on one hand, and gazed up at Myra
quizzically.