"It's very nice of you, of course, to appreciate what she has done. But she can't help you any more. You surely don't intend to keep up your acquaintance with her now." He made no reply, and, taking his silence for agreement, she went on: "The trip home will be terribly dull for me, I'm afraid. I think—yes, I shall have father ask you to go back with us."
"But I am right in the midst of the run. I can't leave the business."
"Oh, business! Do you care more for business than for me? I don't think you realize how terribly hard for me all this has been—I'm still frightened. I shall die of nervousness without some one to talk to."
"It's quite impossible! I—don't want to go back now."
"Indeed? And no doubt it was impossible for you to come out here last night for the same reason."
"It was. The fish struck in, and I could not leave."
"It was that woman who kept you!" cried Mildred. "It is because of her that you refuse to leave this country!"
"Please don't," he said, quietly. "I have never thought of her in that way—"
"Then come away from this wretched place. I detest the whole country—the fisheries, the people, everything. This isn't your proper sphere. Why come away, now, at once, and begin something new, something worth while?"
"Do you realize the hopes, the heartaches, the vital effort I have put into this enterprise?" he questioned.