“Bloem!”
He waited, fuming, and then bellowed again:
“Bloem! . . . Bloem—you blasted Dutchman! . . . Here, you, go and find Mr. Bloem and tell him I want to see him at once. Run!”
He slammed the door again and glowered down at her.
“My girl,” he said venomously, “you’re going to be sorry you didn’t accept my offer the night I made it!”
“My man,” she answered, “your humiliation will always be one of the pleasantest memories of my life.”
“It’ll be one of the last,” he vowed.
He leaned on the door with tightly folded arms, glaring at her evilly, but after one glance of superb disdain she went on smoking and ignored him.
The interval was a long one, and his cursing impatience raged higher with every minute of it.
At last a man came across the deck and knocked on the door. Bittle jerked it open, and let out an exclamation.