There was hardly a
sound on the ship, beyond an unexplained creaking of pulleys, which
soon ceased.
Mrs. Somerville had gone, in response to Elsie's mute appeal. Somehow,
from a piecing together of hints and half phrases, the girl feared a
painful disclosure as the outcome of Isobel's hysteria. She was glad
it had been averted. If there were hidden scandals in her friend's
life in Chile, she prayed they might remain at rest. She had not
forgotten Christobal's guarded words. He probably knew far more than
he chose to tell of the "summer hotel attachment" between Isobel and
Ventana at which he had hinted. But, even crediting that passing folly
with a serious aspect, why should the daughter of the richest merchant
in Valparaiso fall prostrate at the mere mention of the name of a
disreputable loafer like Jose the Winebag? To state the fact was to
refute it. Elsie dismissed the idea as preposterous. It was clear
enough that Isobel's break-down arose from some other cause; perhaps
the relaxed tension of existence on board the _Kansas_, after the
hardships borne on the island, supplied a simple explanation.
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