“Oh, no, nothing of the sort, I assure you,” Sheldon began with awkward haste, fearful of having offended, though he knew not how. “I was just wondering, that was all. You see, with the loss of the schooner and . . and all the rest . . . you understand . . I was thinking that if—a—if—hang it all, until you could communicate with your friends, my agents at Sydney could advance you a loan, temporary you see, why I’d be only too glad and all the rest, you know. The proper—”
But his jaw dropped and he regarded her irritably and with apprehension.
“What is the matter?” he demanded, with a show of heat. “What have I done now?”
Joan’s eyes were bright with battle, the curve of her lips sharp with mockery.
“Certainly not the unexpected,” she said quietly. “Merely ignored me in your ordinary, every-day, man-god, superior fashion. Naturally it counted for nothing, my telling you that I had no idea of going to Sydney. Go to Sydney I must, because you, in your superior wisdom, have so decreed.”
She paused and looked at him curiously, as though he were some strange breed of animal.
“Of course I am grateful for your offer of assistance; but even that is no salve to wounded pride. For that matter, it is no more than one white man should expect from another. Shipwrecked mariners are always helped along their way. Only this particular mariner doesn’t need any help. Furthermore, this mariner is not going to Sydney, thank you.”
“But what do you intend to do?”
“Find some spot where I shall escape the indignity of being patronized and bossed by the superior sex.”
“Come now, that is putting it a bit too strongly.” Sheldon laughed, but the strain in his voice destroyed the effect of spontaneity. “You know yourself how impossible the situation is.”