It was true. He had been very rude indeed. But Ready also had
been at fault. It may be that I was always inclined to take an
opposite view, but I felt bound to point this out, and at any cost.

"You mean when Ready asked him if we were out of our course? I
must say I thought it was a silly question to put. It was the same
the other evening about the cargo. If the skipper says we're in
ballast why not believe him? Why repeat steerage gossip, about
mysterious cargoes, at the cuddy table? Captains are always touchy
about that sort of thing. I wasn't surprised at his letting out."

My poor love stares at me in the starlight. Her great eyes flash
their scorn. Then she gives a little smile - and then a little nod
- more scornful than all the rest.

"You never are surprised, are you, Mr. Cole?" says she. "You were
not surprised when the wretch used horrible language in front of me!
You were not surprised when it was a - dying man - whom he abused!"

I try to soothe her. I agree heartily with her disgust at the
epithets employed in her hearing, and towards an invalid, by the
irate skipper. But I ask her to make allowances for a rough,
uneducated man, rather clumsily touched upon his tender spot. I
shall conciliate her presently; the divine pout (so childish it was!)
is fading from her lips; the starlight is on the tulle and lace and
roses of her pretty evening dress, with its festooned skirts and
obsolete flounces; and I am watching her, ay, and worshipping her,
though I do not know it yet. And as we stand there comes another
snatch from the forecastle: -