“Damn your master,” cried Glyddyr, snatching the pen and scribbling down his name. “There: you ought to know me by this time.”
“Yes, sir; of course, sir; but we always do that with notes, sir.”
“Get out, and bring me my change.”
“Yes, sir; directly sir.”
“It was your father’s wish, Claude—your father’s latest wish. You will not refuse me. I can wait.”
Glyddyr was muttering this as the waiter brought his change, and the words kept on running in his head as he walked down to the pier, to find his men waiting for him. The words haunted him, too, as he rode over the rough waves in the little harbour.
“Bah!” he thought, as he reached his cabin and threw himself down, flushed and in high spirits now, “it was an accident, and I am a fool to shrink with a prize like that waiting for me. I will go on, and she can’t refuse me if I only have plenty of pluck. I’ve been a bit out of order, and weak. It’s all right now. That cad hasn’t a chance. My wife before six months are gone, and then, Master Gellow, if I don’t send you to the right about I’ll—”
He stopped, for he remembered Denise.
“No,” he muttered uneasily, “one’s obliged to keep a cad to do one’s dirty work, and Gellow can be useful when he likes.”