"Yes," admitted Harber, "it is. But at the same time, I'm not sure
that anything's ever really lost. If she's worth while----"
Barton made a vehement sign of affirmation.
"Why, she'll be terribly sorry for you, but she won't _care_,"
concluded Harber. "I mean, she'll be waiting for you, and glad to
have you coming home, so glad that...."
"Ah ... yes. That's what ... I haven't mentioned the fever in
writing to her, you see. It will be a shock."
Harber, looking at him, thought that it would, indeed.
"I had a letter from her just before we sailed," went on the other,
more cheerfully. "I'd like awfully, some time, to have you meet her.
She's a wonderful girl--wonderful. She's clever. She's much cleverer
than I am, really ... about most things. When we get to Victoria,
you must let me give you my address."
"Thanks," said Harber. "I'll be glad to have it."
That was the last Harber saw of him for five days. The weather
had turned rough, and he supposed the poor fellow was seasick,
and thought of him sympathetically, but let it rest there. Then,
one evening after dinner, the steward came for him and said that
Mr. Clay Barton wanted to see him. Harber followed to Barton's stateroom,
which the sick man was occupying alone.
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