"You've been about the ship yet, Miss Gail?" Gerry, Hull asked.
"Only a little last night," Ruth said.
"Come out on deck then," he invited her. "Done for just now, Agnes?" he asked.
"Just now," Agnes said. "But I know you're not. Go on!" she bid, smiling at him as his eyes came to hers.
Ruth saw it as she started away to her cabin for her coat. There had been some concern—not much, but some—in Agnes Ertyle's look that first time she discovered Gerry Hull and Ruth together; there was no suggestion of concern now.
"Hub's sick, poor chap," Gerry told Ruth when she came out and they set off side by side up the promenade deck against the cold, winter wind. "He wanted me to tell you that's why he couldn't look you up this morning."
Had Hub—her loyal, self-derogatory Hub—therefore arranged with his friend to give her this attention, Ruth wondered. Not that Gerry Hull offered himself perfunctorily; he was altogether too well bred for that. He held out his hand to her as the wind threatened to sweep her from her feet; she locked arms with him and together they struggled forward to the bow where a spray shield protected them and they turned to each other and rested.
"Pretty good out here, isn't it?" he asked, drawing deep breaths of the cold, salt air, his dark cheeks glowing.
"Glorious!" Ruth cried. "I never" she checked herself quickly, almost forgetting.
"Crossed in winter before?"
"No."
