The words of Louis’ letter flashed into the depths of her mind:  "That pock-marked man’s a devil—­he’s trying to get me."

She made her frightened feet go nearer.  Ole Fred saw her and grinned.

“Come for that drink, miss?” he asked.  She scowled at him; if she had been nine instead of nineteen it would have been called deliberately “making a face.”  Then she looked past him to Louis.

“I’ve been waiting for you half an hour, Louis.”

“I’m not coming,” he said, looking away from her awkwardly.  “Y-you’ve b-better c-company than m-mine.”

She flushed and felt herself trembling with temper.  A flash from her father’s eyes lit up her face as she said quickly: 

“No, I haven’t.  I want to talk to you.”

“I c-can’t l-leave these chaps now.  I’ll s-see you to-morrow,” he said sullenly.

“Oh no, you’ll not.  What’s to do, Louis?  You said you wanted to see me, and there I was waiting for you, and feeling so lonely.”

“Go on, ole man.  Take her in a dark corner somewhere.  Wants a spoon pretty bad,” said the red-haired man.  “The bar don’t close till eleven, an’ we’ll have some in Number 15 if you’re too late.”

Marcella treated him to one of her scowls that astonished him, and suddenly, setting his teeth, Louis put down his glass, took her arm roughly and, striding along blindly, made forrard.

Until they got into the privacy of the fo’c’sle neither spoke.  She was breathless, partly with indignation, partly with indefinable fear and partly with the breakneck speed at which he had rushed her along the deck.  He sat down on the anchor; she stood before him, her back to the rail, which she gripped with her hands.  Her first impulse was to shake him thoroughly.  But she resisted it as she heard him groan.

“Never—­never in all my life have I imagined there could be anyone so utterly rude as you, and so utterly mad.  What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she said breathlessly.

To her surprise he spoke quite quietly.

“I got mad with you.  I can see now I was a fool.”

“But why should you get mad with me?  And even if you did, is that any reason why you should go and—­and—­what was that beastly word?—­beer-bum with those awful men?”

“I—­I—­s-saw you—­s-sitting here th-this afternoon—­t-talking t-to a man,” he stammered, covering his face with his hand.

“Yes, I was.  Why not?”

“In—­in m-my chair!”

“Oh, my goodness!  You great baby!” she cried.

“I w-was c-coming up with s-some t-tea for you and—­and th-there I s-saw another man,” he jerked out, overcome by the pathos of it.  “I th-threw it overboard.”

“But supposing there had been sixteen men, why shouldn’t I talk to them?”

“I d-don’t w-want you to.  I w-wanted to talk to you.”

“Well!” She could find nothing else to say in her astonishment.