“And I tell you, in turn, that it is nothing of the sort. I’ve sailed the Miélé here, master, if you please, all the way from Tahiti—even if I did lose her, which was the fault of your Admiralty charts. I am a navigator, and that is more than your Solomons captains are. Captain Young told me all about it. And I am a seaman—a better seaman than you, when it comes right down to it, and you know it. I can shoot. I am not a fool. I can take care of myself. And I shall most certainly buy a ketch, run her myself, and go recruiting on Malaita.”
Sheldon made a hopeless gesture.
“That’s right,” she rattled on. “Wash your hands of me. But as Von used to say, ‘You just watch my smoke!’”
“There’s no use in discussing it. Let us have some music.”
He arose and went over to the big phonograph; but before the disc started, and while he was winding the machine, he heard her saying:
“I suppose you’ve been accustomed to Jane Eyres all your life. That’s why you don’t understand me. Come on, Satan; let’s leave him to his old music.”
He watched her morosely and without intention of speaking, till he saw her take a rifle from the stand, examine the magazine, and start for the door.
“Where are you going?” he asked peremptorily.
“As between man and woman,” she answered, “it would be too terribly—er—indecent for you to tell me why I shouldn’t go alligatoring. Good-night. Sleep well.”
He shut off the phonograph with a snap, started toward the door after her, then abruptly flung himself into a chair.