“Do what, senorita?” and the colour came into his dark face.
“Why, kill yourself, captain,” polishing away at a banana without looking up, and feeling pretty sure it would have been better not to have said this.
“I had hoped the little senorita did not know about that,” sighed the captain. “It was a cowardly and foolish thing to do.”
“It was a very wicked thing, captain. I hope you never will try to do it again.”
“Never you fear,” he answered, smiling; “all my life I will try to make amends for it; and I will tell you something you may think strange, senorita, and that is, that this has been the happiest week in all my life. Two or three times when I have been lying here, just at sunset, where I could watch the great white breakers come rolling in, and Sister Julia has been playing on the organ in the church there, I have thought I must be dreaming in my berth in the poor Christina. Then I have raised myself on my elbow, so that I could look into the chancel yonder and see the cross on the altar cloth, and feel sure it was really all as it seemed.”
“You are not exactly glad you were wrecked, though?” Nan asked, practically.
“Yes, in a way, I am glad.”
“You don't forget about losing all your money and things, do you?”
“No, but perhaps it's worth while to have lost one's money to be wrecked on a coast of big and little angels.”
“Big and little angels!”