The days that had elapsed since their first meeting had placed them upon
a more or less intimate footing. He had assumed the right to speak to
her from the outset--this giant who had picked her up like an infant and
scolded her for crying.
It was a hot morning in the Indian Ocean. She had not slept during the
night, and she was feeling weary and oppressed. But, with a woman's
instinctive reserve, she forced a hasty smile. She would not have
stopped to speak had he not risen and barred her progress.
"Sit here!" he said.
She looked up at him with refusal on her lips; but he forestalled her
by laying an immense hand on her shoulder and pressing her down into the
chair he had just vacated. This accomplished, he turned and hung over
the rail in silence. It seemed to be the man's habit at all times to do
rather than to speak.
Sybil sat passive, feeling rather helpless, dumbly watching the great
lounging figure, and wondered how she should escape without hurting his
feelings.
Suddenly, without turning his head, he spoke to her.
"I suppose if I ask what's the matter you'll tell me to go to the
devil."
The remark, though characteristic, was totally unexpected.
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