The captain cast a sharp glance at his daughter. He had been afraid that he would find her crying, and he did not know how to handle such cases with any certainty.
But she had dried her eyes and she gave him no very amiable look—rather, she hinted defiance. He felt more at ease. In his opinion, any person who had spirit enough left for fight was in a mood to keep on enjoying life.
“Perhaps I went a mite too far, Polly,” he admitted. He was mild, but he preserved a little touch of surliness in order that she might not conclude that her victory was won. “But seeing that I brought you off to sea to get you away from flirting—”
“Don't you dare to say that about me!” She beat her round little fist on the table. “Don't you dare!”
“I don't mean that you ever done it! The dudes done it! I want to do right by you, Polly. I've been to sea so long that I don't know much about ways and manners, I reckon. I can't get a good line on things as I ought to. I'm an old fool, I reckon.” His voice trembled. “But it made me mad to have you stram up there on deck and call me names before 'em.”
She did not reply.
“I have always worked hard for you—sailing the seas and going without things myself, so that you could have 'em—doing the best I could ever after your poor mother passed on.”
“I am grateful to you, father. But you don't understand a girl—oh, you don't understand! But let's not talk about it any more—not now.”
“I ain't saying to-night—I ain't making promises! But maybe—we'll see how things shape up—maybe I'll send you back home. Maybe it 'll be to-morrow. We'll see how the stage runs to the train, and so forth!”
“I am going to leave it all to you, father. I'm sure you mean to do right.” She served the food as mistress at the board.