The man beside him, noisily finishing his soup, ordered
apple-meringue pie when the waitress returned with Tunis' order. The
latter noted that her fingers still trembled when she placed his
food before him. When she brought the pie she reached for the man's
check and punched another hole in it. Tunis was careful not to raise
his own eyes to her face. But all the time he was trying to invent
some way by which he might further his acquaintance with her.
He must be back at the _Seamew_ that night. Tomorrow the cargo would
come aboard and, wind and tide being ordinarily favorable, the
schooner would put to sea as soon as the hatches were battened down.
He could not continue to come here to the restaurant for his meals
and so grasp the frail chance of bolstering his acquaintance with
the girl. Indeed, he felt that such an obvious course would utterly
wreck any chance he might naturally have of knowing her better.
The timidity she evinced was nothing put on. It was real. Its cause
he could not fathom, but to Tunis Latham it seemed that this girl
with the violet eyes was a gentle girl, if not gently bred, and that
she shrank from contact with the rougher elements of life. How she
came to be working in this place was not of moment to him.
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