The next
moment Mrs. Johns had saved the situation with an irrelevant remark,
and the incident was over. They were playing bridge, not without
dispute, but at least without insult. But I had hard a glimpse
beneath the surface of that luxurious cruise, one of many such in
the next few days.
That was on Monday, the third day out. Up to that time Miss Lee
had not noticed me, except once, when she found me scrubbing the
deck, to comment on a corner that she thought might be cleaner, and
another time in the evening, when she and Vail sat in chairs until
late, when she had sent me below for a wrap. She looked past me
rather than at me, gave me her orders quietly but briefly, and did
not even take the trouble to ignore me. And yet, once or twice, I
had found her eyes fixed on me with a cool, half-amused expression,
as if she found something in my struggles to carry trays as if I
had been accustomed to them, or to handle a mop as a mop should be
handled and not like a hockey stick--something infinitely
entertaining and not a little absurd.
But that morning, after they had settled to bridge, she followed
me to the rail, out of earshot I straightened and took off my cap,
and she stood looking at me, unsmiling.
"Unclench your hands!" she said.
"I beg your pardon!" I straightened out my fingers, conscious for
the first time of my clenched fists, and even opened and closed
them once or twice to prove their relaxation.
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