“Most diseases are horrible—­what about cancer?” he said coolly.

“But people can’t help cancer, and they can—­at least I think so—­help your sort of illness.  Louis, I saw the two people I love best on earth dying.  One of them died of cancer, the other of drink.  I wasn’t going to tell you that.  But when you said it was in your family I was going to tell you that was no argument.  It’s been in my family for generations and generations.  I suppose it’s in everyone’s to some extent.  It has wiped out all my family.  But it certainly is not going to wipe out me.  I perhaps should not talk about my family to you, a stranger.  Yet somehow I feel that father would not mind my telling you about him, if it can help you from suffering as he did.  He cured himself.”

“How?” he cried with sudden, breathless hopefulness.

“There, that’s the awfulness of it.  I don’t know.  I only know that one day he was drunk, and the next day he was not, and never was again.  He said he gave all his burden to God.”

He shook himself impatiently.

“Oh, I can’t believe in all that rot!” he said harshly.  “I neither trust God nor myself.”

Below deck the mandoline began to twang again, and the soft Italian voice went on with “La Donna E Mobile” interminably.

“Louis, listen to me,” she said quietly.  “I’m not going to let you die like father died.  I’m not going to let your heart get all horrible and thumping so that you can’t lie down, and your feet and hands swollen and white and horrible.  And I’m not going to have you shut up in an asylum.”

“It’s good of you to bother,” he said humbly, “but I can see it’s no good.  You can’t stop it.  I can’t myself.  You’d get fed up.  You’ll get fed up with me as it is before we get to Sydney.  You’ll be jolly glad to get rid of me and be off with the uncle into the backblocks.  I insulted and sickened and shamed Violet till she threw me over.  And she loved me.  I know very well she did.”

“I won’t let you be rude to me, Louis.  I’m not quite like Violet, perhaps.  If people are rude to me I don’t get hurt.  I just give them a good shaking and forget it.  Besides, I couldn’t get cross with anyone for being ill, could I?  And I’m going to make you get better before we get to Sydney.”

He shook his head hopelessly.

“I mean it.  I am going to keep worrying you about it till you stop it dead.  I’ll make it seem a dreadful nuisance to you.”

“It may work,” he said slowly, impressed by her certainty.  “So long as we’re on the ship.  If you can keep me from the Ole Fred gang.  But it’ll be all up when we get to Sydney and you leave me.”

“Well then, I’ll stay in Sydney,” she said, making up her mind casually.  “I’ll tell uncle I don’t want to go and live with him.  I’ll find some way of staying with you.”

“I say, do you mean it?” he cried.  “After my rudeness?”

“Of course I mean it.  It will be fun!  I love a fight!”