Kerry by Grace Livingston Hill Page A

the boat in time, he would probably send a message by wireless or radio to the captain of the boat, and she would be detained when they reached the other side. Would there be any way to get free again? What would be the law in the United States about the right of a mother and such a stepfather?
    Just then there came a sound at her stateroom door. The rattle of a turning key. She saw the door slowly open and a florist’s box was thrust in. Then the stewardess saw her cowering by the window, her eyes large with fright mingled with defiance.
    “I beg your pardon, Madam,” said the woman. “I thought you were on deck. I thought everybody was on deck. These flowers just arrived, as we started, and I wanted to make sure they wouldn’t get lost.”
    “Flowers?” said Kerry, trying to steady her voice. “But there must be some mistake. No one would send flowers here to me. My friends do not know what ship I am taking.”
    “The box has got your name all right, and the number of the stateroom,” affirmed the woman consulting the label. “Aren’t you Mrs. Winship?”
    “Oh no,” said Kerry with relief, and laughed a nervous little laugh. “That must be the lady who gave the stateroom up yesterday. I just got it at the last minute.”
    “Oh,” said the stewardess, “well, then you’d better take the flowers. It’s too late now to send them back. I’ll have the steward attend to sending word to the florist, but you might as well have the flowers as throw them into the ocean. Here, I’ll put them in water for you.”
    So, presently the small stateroom was filled with the splendor of orchids and gardenias, and Kerry was left to look around her and wonder. Kerry Kavanaugh with orchids. She almost laughed. Then she sobered and sat down to think.
    So then, the stewardess had not known about the change of name. Perhaps there was some chance that the change had not yet been made on the ship’s list, had not been sent down from London. Yet how would Sam Morgan have known to come to that dock if he had not seen the name on the list of passengers? Was it really Sam Morgan? Perhaps her eyes had deceived her. Well, she might be out on the ocean, but she was by no means sure that she was free from the man she dreaded.
    She breathed more freely as the afternoon wore on and no one came to bother her. She had not gone down for lunch; she had the stewardess bring her a tray. Later in the afternoon she crept up on deck and went about a little, trying to find a secluded place where no one would see her, for even this much of a glimpse at her fellow passengers told her that her wardrobe was unfit for mingling with theirs. She resolved to keep utterly to herself, and to this end found a comparatively lonely spot where she might watch the gulls dip and sail, and look off at the horizon line, trying to feel that over there beyond all that water somewhere there would be a place for her, where she might work out her little drab life, and get to the end of it honorably. There were no dreams of gallant lovers within her young disillusioned mind. Her one ambition was to complete the work of her great father and see that he had his rightful share of glory. Beyond that, and keeping out of the reach of her undesirable stepfather, she had no present wish.
    It was the steward who presently sought her out, called her Mrs. Winship, desired to show her where her steamer chair was located and where he had placed her in the dining room. He was all deference.
    Kerry, aware of her own shabbiness, in spite of the new black funeral dress, shrank back and tried to explain that she was not the person he supposed her to be. She was just plain Miss Kavanaugh who had purchased the reservation that Mrs. Winship had given up.
    The steward eyed her glorious red-gold hair that had slipped from beneath the little black hat and was waving gorgeously around the girl’s delicate face. He decided it would be just as well to leave the arrangements as they were. Her name