“What are you saying?” asked Captain Fordyce, coming to her end of the bridge.
She shook her head obstinately.
“Ah! you will not repeat it, and that reminds me: I have forgotten to make an apology for bringing you up here against your will.”
She pressed her lips together, and from her high seat looked over his shoulder at the first officer, who was pacing up and down the bridge before them.
Captain Fordyce went on, in a lower voice: “I wanted to get you away from that man Delessert’s attentions. There is something about him that I do not like.”
“You are suspicious,” she retorted, coldly; “you have no right to assume so much authority over my movements.”
The first officer was at the other end of the bridge now, standing with his back to them, his attention fully concentrated on a distant ship. Nina wished earnestly that her last remark could be recalled, for it had transformed her husband into an ardent and determined lover.
“No right! I have the best right in the world. When I see you putting your fingers in the fire, you foolish girl, I shall be the first to pull them out.”
Nina was overawed, yet not totally subdued; and leaning forward, she saucily whispered a few words in the vicinity of his forehead: “My fingers are my own. If I choose to burn them it is none of your business.”
His black eyes met hers with a masterful light. “Try it, darling, and see; those fingers are mine;” and lightly touching them as he spoke, he went tramping away.