"Yes, I simply can't quarrel with you."
"You—crawling—poltroon!"
Hugh's smile vanished at last. He gulped as though a wave had gone over him. But he remembered his father. Beyond doubt his father had heard. He glanced down to him, and what he saw was worth a year of commonplace experience. The father had heard, yet he sat at ease, his knees crossed and his gaze out forward on the boat's course. Watson—but what could Watson matter then? Hugh's eyes burned big on Hayle, his voice deepened, his words came slow. "We can't fight here and now. I can only put you ashore. Don't make me do that. There's trouble enough on this boat as it is. You're having your share. Mr. Hayle, I fear—though I don't know—that Basile has the cholera."
"Damn him and it! You wouldn't fight me if you could."
"True."
"Why? On your father's account—and his father's?"
"On everybody's. Your own father's. Your mother's."
"My sister's?" The question was a threatening sneer.
"Yes, sir." The breakfast bell rang merrily below and Hugh turned to leave. Julian blazed out in curses:
"I forbid you 'that young lady's' company henceforth!"