That evening Paul established the rule by which he thought it best to work the ship. Emily would stand a watch and trick at the wheel of two hours and have three hours below. His watch would be three on deck and two below.
"It isn't fair, Paul," the gold woman protested when he explained it to her.
"It is fair, Emily. I wish I might spare you every bit of the coarse hard things you have to do."
"That's just it. You are always thinking of sparing me."
"Take your orders or go to your room," he said with a pretended seriousness. Emily started with a gasp. Her thoughts leaped to McGovern's story of what had happened on the bridge of the Yakutat. This was what Graham had said to Paul that fateful night.
"I—I will take my orders," she answered in a low voice.
"Why, dear, what is the matter? I didn't mean to frighten you. I'm a ruffian. Do forgive me."
"No, you should forgive me. I had no right to question what you said. You know best."
She drew in beside him on the lee side of the wheel.
"I've been away from civilization so long that I imagine that I've forgotten how to speak decently to white folk."