There was no reproof or sarcasm in the tired voice. She had simply made an assertion.
"Why are you at sea, before the mast—a man of your talents?"
It was foolish, he knew; but the word "man" sent a thrill through him.
"To please you if I may; to cultivate what you did not find in me."
"Yes, I knew; when you came on board I knew it. But you might have spoken to me."
There was petulance in the tone now, and the soul of the man rejoiced. The woman in her was asserting itself.
"Miss Folsom," he answered warmly, "I could not. You had made it impossible. It was your right, your duty, if you wished it. But you ignored my existence."
"I was testing you. I am glad now, Mr. Owen."
The petulance was gone, but there was something chilling in this answer.
"Can you see the ship?" he asked after a moment's silence. "The moonlight is stronger."