“Surely there was no need for the—the misstatement,” said Kate, in mournful recognition of what she took to be his dumb self-reproach. “See now how useless it was—and a thousand times worse than useless! See how it prevints me now from respecting you and being properly grateful to you for what you’ve done on me behalf, and—and—”
She broke off suddenly. To her consternation she had discovered that the young man, so far from being stricken speechless in contrition, was grinning gayly at the distant landscape.
Turning with abruptness she walked indignantly aft. Cormac O’Daly had come up from below, and stood wistfully gazing landward over the taffrail. She joined him, and stood at his side flushed and wrathful.
Bernard was not wholly able to chase the smile from his face as he rose and sauntered over toward her. She turned her back as he approached and tapped the deck nervously with her foot. Nothing dismayed, he addressed himself to O’Daly, who seemed unable to decide whether also to look the other way or not.
“Good morning, sir,” he said affably. “You’re quite a stranger, Mr. O’Daly.”
Kate, at his first word, had walked briskly away up the deck. Cormac’s little black eyes snapped viciously at the intruder.
“At laste I’m not such a stranger,” he retorted, “but that me thrue name is known, an’ I’m here be the invitation of the owner.”
“I’m sorry you take things so hard, Mr. O’Daly,” said Bernard. “An easy disposition would come very handy to you, seeing the troubles you ’ve got to go through with yet.”
The small man gazed apprehensively at his tormentor.
“I don’t folly ye,” he stammered.