"I am not frightened; my curiosity is natural. Is there a chance that the yacht may not get where you are taking her?"
"To the Assateague beach—no, I don't think there is—if all goes well."
"If all goes well! Then there is a chance—a chance we may—"
"Oh, we'll be all right." Dan was temperamentally straightforward and honest, and his assertions were uttered with a tentative inflection which fell far from carrying conviction to the aroused senses of the girl.
She stepped closer to Dan.
"May I say something? We are in danger. I have been thinking of things since you came aboard—since I have been sitting in the saloon with the men who are different—"
Dan could see that the girl, always evidently one of dominant emotions, was overwrought, and something told him she had no business to express the thoughts which filled her mind, that she would be sorry later that she had spoken. He had interrupted her by a gesture. Now his voice came cool and even.
"Miss Howland, don't. I've got to take care of this yacht."
A quick sense of just what he meant shot through the girl's mind. She raised her eyes and looked at him straight. They were blazing, not altogether with anger. She trembled; she flushed and moved uncertainly. Then, without a word, she turned and left him.
"A half-foot more water in the last half-hour," reported Arthur.