"Gladys Ardmore!"
"Why, yes," she smiled, "didn't you expect me? I told you I thought I'd go."
"And I said you should not." Her coolness angered him.
"You forget that this is my father's boat. A man's daughter should always be a welcome guest on his boat."
"But—but that's not it," he hesitated. "This is not a pleasure trip. We are going five hundred miles straight to sea in a boat intended for shore travel. It's likely to storm." He sniffed the air and held his cheek to the breeze that was already breaking the water into little choppy waves. "It is going to be dangerous."
"But you are going," she said soberly, "to the assistance of my brother. I have a better right than you to risk my life to save my own brother. I can be of assistance to you. Truly, I can. I can be the galley cook."
"You a cook?" He looked his surprise.
"Certainly. Do you think a rich man's daughter can do nothing but play tennis and pour tea? Those times are gone, if indeed they ever existed. I am as able to do things as is your sister, if you have one."
"But," said Curlie suddenly, "I am going from a sense of duty. Having set out to have your brother arrested I mean to do it."
For a full moment she stared at him stupefied. Then she said slowly, through set, white lips: "You wouldn't do that?"