"I want you to stop making love to that innocent child."
The innocent child's sweet voice was clamoring again. "Peter, the Sahara Desert is a flowing river compared with my throat!"
"All right, Peggy; in a minute."
"You said once that you—loved me."
"I still stand by my guns. But I don't love any one now. You're a temptress, Romola. Why, you are a princess! I never saw you more beautiful than to-night!"
"Peter, can't you realize what a dreary life I've led since that night you ran away from me in Hong Kong? Won't you—for me—because I want it—because I want you—reconsider, won't you stop, and think, and——"
"We're getting back to forbidden grounds, Romola."
"Oh, God! I know, I know! But what is there left in my life? Why, what is there left in yours? Perhaps you are the best operator on the whole Pacific Ocean; you've had that reputation now—how long—five years? But it is aimless! Where are you drifting? What will become of you as the years pass? You must be nearly thirty now, Peter. I? I am younger, but I have suffered more. The only happiness I have known has been with you."
Peggy's voice became petulant. "Peter, is that cork awfully obstinate?"
"In a minute," he said absently.