I turned to my lady.
“That steam yacht is mine—you can find an asylum on board and will be taken wherever you wish.”
Then her eyes blazed again—so far as I knew I had not said anything uncivil, or calculated to arouse her temper, and yet she seemed to look upon my proposition in the light of an affront.
She even stamped her little foot in anger.
“Thank you, I prefer remaining here, and enduring all things, to going aboard that hateful yacht.”
Now what was there about the beautiful boat to incur her anger, save that it had been my lonely floating home for a long time, and must in that way be associated with my hateful personality that it had to come in for a share of her obloquy?
“Oh, if you object to my presence, I shall remain ashore and let Robbins take charge of the boat while you are aboard,” I said, quickly.
She gave me a look as of daggers drawn, but I could not interpret it, stupid that I was.
“Pray, give yourself no concern about the matter. If I had dreamed it would cause you this trouble I would have died rather than send that note for help. It was all a dreadful mistake.”
“Yes, a dreadful mistake,” I murmured.