"I don't care who you are," he rumbled; "this here's my woman."
"All right," said Beekman; "that's to your credit, I'm sure: a man is known by the woman he keeps, and you can't have a better. Only, you see, my friend——"
"I ain't yer friend."
Once more Mary interposed.
"Just sit down, Bill," she urged. "Sit down an' have a drink with us. You can hear all we got to say."
Stevens sank into a chair, but when Beekman, with Mary between them, pushed the bottle toward Bill, the sailor would have none of it.
"I'll stop a bit," he said, "but I ain't goin' to drink with you, an' you needn't think it."
Philip was still undisturbed.
"Have it your own way," he said. "I know how it is: when a man falls in love, he swears off liquor; when he falls out of love he takes to liquor again—one sort of drunkenness is as much as he can stand at a time. I'll take a drink."
Mary, who now began to fear acute trouble, slipped a hand to Stevens, but he drew away.