“You were muddlers, the pair of you, without doubt.  But you needn’t sell to Morgan and Raff.  I shall go down to Sydney on the next steamer, and I’ll come back in a second-hand schooner.  I should be able to buy one for five or six thousand dollars—­”

He held up his hand in protest, but she waved it aside.

“I may manage to freight a cargo back as well.  At any rate, the schooner will take over the Jessie’s business.  You can make your arrangements accordingly, and have plenty of work for her when I get back.  I’m going to become a partner in Berande to the extent of my bag of sovereigns—­I’ve got over fifteen hundred of them, you know.  We’ll draw up an agreement right now—­that is, with your permission, and I know you won’t refuse it.”

He looked at her with good-natured amusement.

“You know I sailed here all the way from Tahiti in order to become a planter,” she insisted.  “You know what my plans were.  Now I’ve changed them, that’s all.  I’d rather be a part owner of Berande and get my returns in three years, than break ground on Pari-Sulay and wait seven years.”

“And this—­er—­this schooner. . . . " Sheldon changed his mind and stopped.

“Yes, go on.”

“You won’t be angry?” he queried.

“No, no; this is business.  Go on.”

“You—­er—­you would run her yourself?—­be the captain, in short?—­and go recruiting on Malaita?”

“Certainly.  We would save the cost of a skipper.  Under an agreement you would be credited with a manager’s salary, and I with a captain’s.  It’s quite simple.  Besides, if you won’t let me be your partner, I shall buy Pari-Sulay, get a much smaller vessel, and run her myself.  So what is the difference?”

“The difference?—­why, all the difference in the world.  In the case of Pari-Sulay you would be on an independent venture.  You could turn cannibal for all I could interfere in the matter.  But on Berande, you would be my partner, and then I would be responsible.  And of course I couldn’t permit you, as my partner, to be skipper of a recruiter.  I tell you, the thing is what I would not permit any sister or wife of mine—­”

“But I’m not going to be your wife, thank goodness—­only your partner.”

“Besides, it’s all ridiculous,” he held on steadily.  “Think of the situation.  A man and a woman, both young, partners on an isolated plantation.  Why, the only practical way out would be that I’d have to marry you—­”

“Mine was a business proposition, not a marriage proposal,” she interrupted, coldly angry.  “I wonder if somewhere in this world there is one man who could accept me for a comrade.”

“But you are a woman just the same,” he began, “and there are certain conventions, certain decencies—­”

She sprang up and stamped her foot.

“Do you know what I’d like to say?” she demanded.

“Yes,” he smiled, “you’d like to say, ‘Damn petticoats!’”