“Well, to tell you the truth—but don't let it go any farther, Madame,—he came aboard just before supper to find out how Mrs. Cruise is getting along. Dr. Cullen told him exactly what all these women down there know,—that she's very low,—so he went ashore. Said something about not wanting to take part in any racket that might disturb her,—noisy talk, and all that,—and left a bunch of wild flowers for her in case she was better by morning.”
There was a slight noise behind them. Turning, they saw the figure of a woman in the shadow of the deck house.
“Who's there?” demanded Mr. Mott.
Ruth Clinton stepped forward into the light.
“Did he—did he do that?” she asked huskily.
“He did,” said the Captain.
“And is she so very ill? I did not know, Captain Trigger.”
“She's likely to die, Miss Clinton,—poor little woman.”
Ruth was silent for a moment. Then: “Do you think she—she can hear all that hubbub down there?”
“I am sure she cannot. But Percival was afraid she could, so he—well, he thought it best not to make it any worse by adding his groans of agony when you women tore him limb from limb out here on deck. That's the way he put it, so don't look at me like that.”