“Speak! What do you mean?” exclaimed Dutch, panting.
“I only thought she ought to be more particular, perhaps, as a lady, and not speak to the dark mulatto sailor.”
“Have—have you seen her speaking to—to that man?” said Dutch, with his breath coming thick and short.
“Yes, I did last night,” said Wilson; “but I did not mention it to anyone else, and of course she was only doing it out of kindness, for she is very amiable.”
“When—when was it?” panted Dutch, whose face flushed with shame and anger that he should be stooping to ask such questions.
“Just after dark, when you diving people were having your meal below. They parted, though, directly.”
“Thanks; say no more about this,” said Dutch, more calmly. “Perhaps it looks a little imprudent, but, as you say, she is so amiable and kind to the men that her actions are easily misconstrued.”
Dutch rose to go on deck, for the air in the cabin seemed to stifle him, but Wilson arrested his steps.
“But you will come if we have a shooting expedition, Mr Pugh?” he exclaimed. “You have not been ashore yet, but spending your time over this dreadful treasure-hunting, when the treasures ashore are a thousand times more beautiful.”
“I will see—perhaps—I cannot say,” replied Dutch; and he stumbled on deck to stand watching Rasp, who was busy over the air-pump, which he had taken all to pieces, but as it was close upon dusk he was collecting the various screws and placing them loosely in their proper holes before covering all over with a tarpaulin to keep off the heavy night dew that hung in drops each morning from every rail.