"Go on, ole man. Take her in a dark corner somewhere. Wants a spoon
pretty bad," said the red-haired man. "The bar don't close till eleven,
an' we'll have some in Number 15 if you're too late."

Marcella treated him to one of her scowls that astonished him, and
suddenly, setting his teeth, Louis put down his glass, took her arm
roughly and, striding along blindly, made forrard.

Until they got into the privacy of the fo'c'sle neither spoke. She was
breathless, partly with indignation, partly with indefinable fear and
partly with the breakneck speed at which he had rushed her along the
deck. He sat down on the anchor; she stood before him, her back to the
rail, which she gripped with her hands. Her first impulse was to shake
him thoroughly. But she resisted it as she heard him groan.

"Never--never in all my life have I imagined there could be anyone so
utterly rude as you, and so utterly mad. What on earth do you think
you're doing?" she said breathlessly.

To her surprise he spoke quite quietly.

"I got mad with you. I can see now I was a fool."

"But why should you get mad with me? And even if you did, is that any
reason why you should go and--and--what was that beastly word?--beer-bum
with those awful men?"

"I--I--s-saw you--s-sitting here th-this afternoon--t-talking t-to a
man," he stammered, covering his face with his hand.