"Don't. I don't know what he told you. I hope nothing foolish. He and I understand each other. Last night, when he came, I told him ... There, I must go, Cap'n Kendrick. I have left mother alone too long already."
"Wait!" he shouted it. "You mean ... You aren't goin' to marry George Kent—ever?"
"Why, no, of course not!"
"Elizabeth—oh, my soul, I—I'm crazy, I guess—but—Elizabeth, could you—— No, you couldn't, I know.... But am I crazy? Could you—do you—Elizabeth, if you ... Stop!"
She was on her way to the door.
He sprang after her, caught her hand.
"Elizabeth," he cried, the words tumbling over each other, "I'm thirty-eight years old. I'm a sailor, that's all. I'm not much of a man, as men go maybe, sort of a failure so far. But—with you to work for and live for, I—I guess I could be—I feel as if I could be almost anything. Could you give me that chance? Could you?"
She did not answer; did not even look at him. He dropped her hand.
"Of course not," he sighed. "Just craziness was what it was. Forgive me, my girl. And—forget it, if you can."
She did not speak. Slowly, and still without looking at him, she walked out of the kitchen. The outer door closed behind her. He put his hand to his eyes, breathed deeply, and returning to the chair by the table, sat heavily down.