"I am not going to the saloon," I returned quietly, disengaging myself; "I am going to have my breakfast on the bridge with you."
"But I'm not going to breakfast there. I'm off duty, and we may as well be comfortable when we can."
Then he congratulated us both on being such good sailors as to be able to go to breakfast the first morning, and, not to make a fuss, I let him take me down into the saloon, and seat me at the public table by his side, vis-à-vis with Mrs. Harris. He spoke to other passengers, shaking hands with some, and introducing me to one or two. A rather nice man talked to me throughout the meal, while Mrs. Harris monopolised Tom entirely.
This was not what I had come to sea for, and so, as soon as I had finished, I slipped away, ran up to the bridge, got out a little chair, and prepared for a quiet morning with my husband, where no one had the right to disturb us. In fact, I was fully resolved to defend that bridge, if need were, against unauthorized intruders. Mrs. Harris might have done what she liked with it and him in those old times that she was for ever flinging in my face. She would not do it now.
Scarcely had I opened my workbag and threaded my needle when up she came as bold as brass, with a yellow-back under her arm. It was too much. I felt that, if I were to make any stand at all, it must be now or never, or I should be altogether trodden under foot. So I looked at her with an air of calm inquiry, and said, "Oh! Mrs. Harris—do you want anything?"
"No, thanks," she replied in an off-hand tone. "The steward is bringing up my chair."
"Bringing it up?—here?"
"Certainly. Why not?"
"Only that—perhaps you don't know—nobody is allowed on the bridge. The notice is stuck up against the stairs."
"Then why are you here?" she retorted, bristling.