She looked round about her critically.
"You are not very rich," she said at last. "We came from America in a much larger ship than this. He was with me then."
Her eyes filled suddenly with tears, and she saw no longer either the cabin or the man. Faber covered the outstretched hand, and stroked it softly.
"My poor little girl! You must make your home with me now."
She shook her head.
"You are not rich; it would be different with you," she said; and then, in just the childish tone she had used at the Cantina, she exclaimed, "I don't believe you have much money."
He laughed, and reassured her.
"I've a great deal more than you or I will ever want, Maryska."
It was evident that the wolf-child was suspicious. The gipsy instincts were awake.
"Will you give me some money if I want any?"