Dolan of Sugar Hills by Kate Starr

over ... if it had ever really begun. Standing here now, she tried to make herself feel remote from it all, as though it had not happened to her.
    Aloud she said banally to the silent man beside her, “What will the passengers think?” and Cane shrugged uninterestedly.
    “Frankly, we’ll be a welcome diversion. A week of nothing but coral sometimes palls. The captain welcomes anything out of the usual. It makes for an interesting trip.”
    “Then you should charge him an entertainment fee,” Sheila suggested coldly.
    “I would consider that if he didn’t have to board us for several days,” Cane returned just as coldly.
    “Several days?”
    “Yes.”
    “Is Silverwake so far distant?”
    “It’s no distance, but you can’t expect The Star to change its usual route just for us.”
    The boat was coming in now, it left a silver pleat behind it on the indigo sea. “Ahoy there,” called a voice.
    “Dolan here. Dolan and lady,” called back Cane.
    “Skipper here. Sorry to intrude and all that, Dolan, but you did wave first.” The captain laughed.
    The boat scraped bottom and stopped, Cane lifted Sheila in and then the bags. He pushed the boat off and hopped in himself. “Captain McAllister, Sheila Guthrie,” he introduced.
    The captain smiled at Sheila in frank admiration. “Personally,” he admitted disarmingly, “I wouldn’t have waved, Cane.”
    In spite of herself Sheila had to smile.
    Only Dolan did not join in. He sat there silent and moody.
    “Cat got your tongue?” queried McAllister, enjoying the situation.
    “No, but the coral got my boat,” Cane returned.
    “You don’t tell me you were reefed.” McAllister leaned back and roared. “You landlubbers,” he chuckled.
    He steered delightedly out toward the bobbing lights.
    “Don’t think for a minute I’m going to change my route just to put you off, Dolan,” he said good-naturedly, “though it might be an idea after all with a face like yours.”
    Cane stirred himself and summoned an unwilling grin.
    “I’m in no desperate hurry,” he returned.
    “Just as well. The guests are looking forward to seeing the marooned couple.” The skipper cut the engine and the boat drifted to the little ship’s steps.
    There were hands to help them up. Sheila was aware of many faces, many voices. People peered at them, someone asked had she been frightened, she heard Cane Dolan being teased by the young crew as a landlubber again.
    She was glad to escape with the kindly hostess, Mrs. Edwards. She accepted gratefully her offer of tea in bed.
    When she opened her eyes the next morning The Star was already under way.
    “That’s Daydream outside your porthole,” indicated Mrs. Edwards who had come in with tea. “Lindeman is on our starboard. Breakfast in half an hour, dear, and you can meet the guests.”
    “Are there many?”
    “Twenty—and all anxious to hear about your experiences.” Mrs. Edwards looked a little apologetic. “You know how it is when you’re on a trip, everyone is interested in everyone else.”
    Sheila put on a pantsuit and went upstairs when the gong sounded.
    The little saloon was already filled. “It’s the one order on this ship,” smiled Mrs. Edwards. “Everyone must come and eat.”
    But one person was not there.
    “Mr. Dolan is breakfasting with the captain,” Mrs. Edwards explained.
    The guests were eagerly friendly, some of the younger ones produced books to be autographed. “When I go south again,” giggled a girl, “I’ll say this was from a member of a shipwrecked crew who had been marooned on a desert island for years.” Protesting would have spoiled the fun, so Sheila smiled and signed instead.
    She had regained her appetite now and ate with relish. After the meal she joined the rest of the guests on the sunny upper deck, talking, reading, dozing, playing games, or simply watching the panoramic unfolding of island after island, all islands like her island, she thought, and yet, with a stab at her