Cunningham laid his napkin on the table and stood up.
“Absolute personal liberty, if you will accept the situation sensibly.”
Dennison glowered at him, but Jane reached out and touched the soldier’s sleeve.
“Please!”
“For your sake, then. But it’s tough medicine for me to swallow.”
“To be sure it is,” agreed the rogue. “Look upon me as a supercargo for the next ten days. You’ll see me only at lunch and dinner. I’ve a lot of work to do in the chart house. By the way, the wireless man is mine, Cleigh, so don’t waste any time on him. Hope you’re a good sailor, Miss Norman, for we are heading into rough weather, and we haven’t much beam.”
“I love the sea!”
“Hang it, you and I shan’t have any trouble! Good-night.”
Cunningham limped to the door, where he turned and eyed the elder Cleigh, who was stirring his coffee thoughtfully. Suddenly the rogue burst into a gale of laughter, and they could hear recurrent bursts as he wended his way to the companion.
When this sound died away Cleigh turned his glance levelly upon Jane. The stone-like mask 134 dissolved into something that was pathetically human.