The fifth evening out from New York harbor—they were due some time the following day in the Mersey, dependent largely upon the tide and weather—he could stand no longer the evident growth of friendliness between his cousin and her "employed" assistant.
Maria Theresa had forgiven the Kentuckian for his jest—without the formality of an apology, because she was a woman. She had once more yielded to her loneliness, and walked the wind-swept promenade deck to discuss their common subjects.
As Jarvis bade her good-night and stepped into the shadow of the deck, he observed the aristocrat knocking angrily upon the cabin door.
"Let me in, Maria," cried the Duke, in Castilian. "I must talk to you, for your own good."
"I suppose that means my bad," muttered Jarvis. "I'll just smoke another cigarette in the neighborhood, to see how things go."
The Duke was admitted—his conversation in the parlor of the suite seemed to last for half an hour. At last the door opened, and he reappeared. He was talking excitedly at the doorway.
"What I have said to you, I would say before him, were he not skulking in his cabin, afraid of justice. He is a pig of a poltroon!" cried his Excellency. "I wish he were here now, and I would tell it to his face."
The girl replied calmly—so quietly indeed that Jarvis could not distinguish the words.
But he stepped forward, and laid a hand upon the nobleman's arm. Carlos jumped nervously, as though bitten by a snake.
"Here I am, your Excellency. Let's hear what it is you have to say?"