I have no patience with any of you - except poor Mr. Ready in his
berth."

"But you are not going."

"Indeed I am. I am tired of you all."

And she was gone with angry tears for which I blamed myself as I
fell to pacing the weather side of the poop - and so often
afterwards! So often, and with such unavailing bittertness !

Senhor Santos and the captain were in conversation by the weather
rail. I fancied poor old Harris eyed me with suspicion, and I
wished he had better cause. The Portuguese, however, saluted me
with his customary courtesy, and I thought there was a grave twinkle
in his steady eye.

"Are you in deesgrace also, friend Cole?" he inquired in his all
but perfect English.

"More or less," said I ruefully.

He gave the shrug of his country - that delicate gesture which is
done almost entirely with the back - a subtlety beyond the power
of British shoulders.

"The senhora is both weelful and pivish," said he, mixing the two
vowels which (with the aspirate) were his only trouble with our
tongue. "It is great grif to me to see her growing so unlike her
sainted mother!"