A quiver passed over his face; it showed that he was suffering.
“Give it up!” I urged.
“My last farthing's in it,” he sighed; “the chance of a lifetime.”
He looked at me doubtfully, appealingly, as if for the first time in his life he had been given a glimpse of that dilemma of consequences which his nature never recognises. I thought he was going to give in. Suddenly, to my horror, Dan growled, “Play the man!”
Pearse turned his head. “I don't want your advice anyway,” he said; “I'll not be dictated to.”
“To your last day,” said Dan, “you shall answer to me for the way you treat her.”
Zachary smiled.
“Do you see that fly?” he said. “Wel—I care for you as little as this,” and he flicked the fly off his white trousers. “Good-morning...!”
The noble mariners who manned our boat pulled lustily for the shore, but we had hardly shoved off' when a storm of rain burst over the ship, and she seemed to vanish, leaving a picture on my eyes of the mate waving his cap above the rail, with his tanned young face bent down at us, smiling, keen, and friendly.
.... We reached the shore drenched, angry with ourselves, and with each other; I started sulkily for home.