'What difference would that make?' He unbuttoned his ulster with a jerk. 'You're a sane woman. Can't you see the wicked--wicked--wicked' (dust flew from the padded arm-rest as he struck it) unfairness of it? What have I done?'
She laid her large hand on his shoulder very firmly.
'If you begin to think over that,' she said, 'you'll go to pieces and be ashamed. Tell me yours, and I'll tell you mine. Only be quiet--be quiet, lad, or you'll set me off!' She made shift to soothe him, though her chin trembled.
'Well,' said he at last, picking at the arm-rest between them, 'mine's nothing much, of course.'
'Don't be a fool! That's for doctors--and mothers.'
'It's Hell,' Conroy muttered. 'It begins on a steamer--on a stifling hot night. I come out of my cabin. I pass through the saloon where the stewards have rolled up the carpets, and the boards are bare and hot and soapy.'
'I've travelled too,' she said.
'Ah! I come on deck. I walk down a covered alleyway. Butcher's meat, bananas, oil, that sort of smell.'
Again she nodded.
'It's a lead-coloured steamer, and the sea's lead-coloured. Perfectly smooth sea--perfectly still ship, except for the engines running, and her waves going off in lines and lines and lines--dull grey. All this time I know something's going to happen.'