“Will your ladyship come forward and see how the Psyche goes?” he said. “At the stern, you can see only the passive part of her motion. It is quite another thing to see the will of her at work in the bows.”
At first she was going to refuse; but she changed her mind, or her mind changed her: she was not much more of a living and acting creature yet than the Psyche herself. She said nothing, but rose, and permitted Malcolm to help her forward.
It was the moon’s turn now to be level with the water, and as Florimel stood on the larboard side, leaning over and gazing down, she saw her shine through the little feather of spray the cutwater sent curling up before it, and turn it into pearls and semiopals.
“She’s got a bone in her mouth, you see, my lady,” said old Travers.
“Go aft till I call you, Travers,” said Malcolm.
Rose was in Florimel’s cabin, and they were now quite alone.
“My lady,” said Malcolm, “I can’t bear to have you angry with me.”
“Then you ought not to deserve it,” returned Florimel.
“My lady, if you knew all, you would not say I deserved it.”
“Tell me all then, and let me judge.”