"No, I'm not. I've thought about her a lot these last three months, and I think I know her now." He leaned his head back and shut his eyes. "She's an August woman, Angus. An August woman. One night a warm breeze comes through the door and sweeps a girl into your arms. You say things, and she says things, and you both end up saying 'I do!' Then she wakes up one morning to find she doesn't any more. And another door will open, another breeze carry her off."
"Mary's not like that."
"I didn't think so in the beginning."
"You surprise me, John. I thought you had more faith."
"Not any more. With me, it's what I can touch or smell or hear or see. Nothing more."
"Then there's never any proof for you. You can't watch her every minute."
John raised himself unsteadily, and stitched his finger into the air. "That, my dear Doctor, is where you are wrong." He stood and groped his way into the light of the cabin. Angus followed, trying to see his face.
"There is something more to this, John. Let's stop the riddles and say what we mean."
The captain spun in sharp, stifled anger. "Shall I tell you, Angus? Shall I let you in on my secret?" The anger detonated. "All right, damn it! You came here for it. I'll give it to you! You know my lightscope? Well, it works. It works fine!"
"What has this—?"