“It’s a lie, woman,” cried the captain, who noted that the couple whose coming had made him lower his voice had now passed after looking up at the window, and who now turned again fiercely upon the woman.
“No, it isn’t a lie, Jem,” said the new-comer. “I’ve seen you on the beach with her many a time, and thought what a blackguard you were.”
“Lieutenant Armstrong, I am your superior officer,” cried the captain. “How dare you speak to me like that! Sir, you go into arrest, for this speech.”
“I was not addressing my superior officer,” said the new-comer, flushing slightly, “but my cousin Jem. Put me in arrest, will you? Very well, my fine fellow; you’re captain, I’m lieutenant, and I must obey; but if you do, next time we’re ashore I’ll thrash you within an inch of your life as sure as my name’s Humphrey. Hang it, I’ll do it now!”
He took a quick step forward; but the captain darted behind the table, and Mary caught the young man’s arm.
“No, no, sir,” she said in a deep voice; “don’t get yourself into trouble for me. It’s very true and gallant of you, sir, to take the part of a poor girl; but I can fight my own battle against such a coward as that. Look at him, with his pale face and white lips, and tell me how I could ever have loved such a creature.”
“Woman—”
“Yes, woman now,” cried the girl. “A month ago no word was too sweet and tender for me. There, I’m going, James Armstrong, and I wish you joy of your new wife—the pale, thin creature I saw go by; but don’t think you are done with me, or that this is to be forgotten. As for you, sir,” she continued, holding out her hand, which her defender took, and smiled down frankly in the handsome dark face before him? “I sha’n’t forget this.”
“No,” said Captain Armstrong with a sneer. “Lose one lover, pick up another. She’s a nice girl, Humphrey, and it’s your turn now.”
Mary Dell did not loose the hand she had seized, but darted a bitterly contemptuous look upon her late lover, which made him grind his teeth as she turned from him again to the lieutenant.