"I think I'll smoke—if I may," continued the undisturbed Beekman. "A pipe is domestic, a cigar is philosophic, and a cigarette is a cynic: I shall have a cigarette. William?"—And he offered his silver case to the sailor.
"No," said Stevens, shortly.
Beekman tossed his head. Mary saw his gray eyes snap.
"William," he said, "you have got to learn that the best girl is never so good as the next. And you have got to learn manners. If you won't behave yourself properly, I think you had better leave."
Stevens's fingers opened and closed slowly.
"You go to hell," he said.
Beekman rose quietly. His cigarette was in one hand, and with the other, instead of threatening, he pointed to the stairway.
"Run along," he said.
Stevens jumped to his feet and crouched, like a panther ready to spring. Mary, overturning her chair, flung her arms about him and pinioned him in an embrace.
"Don't, Bill!" she whispered, and, over her shoulder: "Don't, Mr. Beekman! Can't you two be friends? Can't you see it's all right, Bill? Can't you let him alone, Mr. Beekman? Bill, you know how much I think of you."