"No, Polly," he said; "your father is right. I could not bring you down to be the wife of a man counted unfit to serve his king and his country."
"But I am not afraid of being poor," said Polly, with tears in her eyes.
"It is not that, my dear," answered Dicky, in a husky voice. "It is because I am broken—don't you see? I shall have to take off the uniform that I had hoped to wear as long as I lived. I shall have to either live in my own country as a discredited man, or carry my discredit with me to another country; no, Polly."
"But I say I will!" answered Polly, fiercely.
"Good-by," said Dicky, taking her hand. "You are too generous; it would be cruel to take advantage of you, dear Polly—"
The captain had been standing there all the time. Both Dicky and Polly had forgotten him until he spoke.
"Now, Polly," said he, firmly, "this must stop. Carew is right."
"Well, then," said Polly, standing up very straight and bold, "he may refuse to marry me now; but I mean to let him know once a year that I am ready and waiting for him, until—until he finds somebody else."
"There's no danger of that," said Dicky, kissing her hand; "but you and I can never be married now, Polly."
Dicky did not go back to the Hornet, but went ashore and to an inn, where, calling for a private room, he sat and tried to look the thing in the face like a man; but he couldn't. His profession gone, his mother's heart broken, separated from Polly, no longer Captain Carew, commanding his Majesty's ship Hornet, but plain Dicky Carew commanding nothing at all.