If his display of annoyance was only a mask of jealousy she fancied that
she could deal with it, and forgive it, but if it should be really a
sign of indifference? so reasoned her rapid female brain; the cruder
masculine mind was but too ready to supply the solution of the problem.

"_Voyons, Marguerite_," said her lover, almost blubbering. "I have loved
you all your life. Ever since you were a little totterer whom I carried
in my arms and planted on the top of the garden wall to pick
coquelicots, I have thought of you as one to be some day mine. I see now
how foolish I have been. I will put the sea between us; and I hope my
boat will go to the bottom; and then perhaps you will be sorry." ... And
in the fervour of self-pity he actually shed tears.

Marguerite watched him, with a joyous sense of triumph. Secure of her
victory, she could now assume her turn to show anger. But she did not
feel it; and she had not much skill in the feigning of unbecoming
passions.

"That is ungenerous, Monsieur. You do not think of the poor boatmen who
would go to the bottom with you. They are not sulky young men who have
quarrelled with harmless women. The Race of Alderney will do without
them; _dame_! it may afford to wait for you too."

If Alain had but caught the look with which these final words were
accompanied! But he was still sitting in the distant darkness, with his
moistened eyes bent obstinately on the ground.

And so the misunderstanding widened and deepened; and presently Rose
returned. Taking in the situation with a rapid glance, she passed
through the room and out into the buttery, whence she soon returned