“He was bullying me.  I didn’t intend to drop him.”

The ship was rolling gently; he made a pass at me with a magazine he carried, and almost lost his balance.  The women had risen, and were watching from the corner of the after house.  I caught him and steadied him until he could clutch a chair.

“You try any tricks like that again, and you’ll go overboard,” he stormed.  “Who are you, anyhow?  Not one of our men?”

I saw the quick look between Vail and Mrs. Turner, and saw her come forward.  Mrs. Johns followed her, smiling.

“Marsh!” Mrs. Turner protested.  “I told you about him—­the man who had been ill.”

“Oh, another of your friends!” he sneered, and looked from me to Vail with his ugly smile.

Vail went rather pale and threw up his head quickly.  The next moment Mrs. Johns had saved the situation with an irrelevant remark, and the incident was over.  They were playing bridge, not without dispute, but at least without insult.  But I had hard a glimpse beneath the surface of that luxurious cruise, one of many such in the next few days.

That was on Monday, the third day out.  Up to that time Miss Lee had not noticed me, except once, when she found me scrubbing the deck, to comment on a corner that she thought might be cleaner, and another time in the evening, when she and Vail sat in chairs until late, when she had sent me below for a wrap.  She looked past me rather than at me, gave me her orders quietly but briefly, and did not even take the trouble to ignore me.  And yet, once or twice, I had found her eyes fixed on me with a cool, half-amused expression, as if she found something in my struggles to carry trays as if I had been accustomed to them, or to handle a mop as a mop should be handled and not like a hockey stick—­something infinitely entertaining and not a little absurd.

But that morning, after they had settled to bridge, she followed me to the rail, out of earshot I straightened and took off my cap, and she stood looking at me, unsmiling.

“Unclench your hands!” she said.

“I beg your pardon!” I straightened out my fingers, conscious for the first time of my clenched fists, and even opened and closed them once or twice to prove their relaxation.

“That’s better.  Now—­won’t you try to remember that I am responsible for your being here, and be careful?”

“Then take me away from here and put me with the crew.  I am stronger now.  Ask the captain to give me a man’s work.  This—­this is a housemaid’s occupation.”

“We prefer to have you here,” she said coldly; and then, evidently repenting her manner:  “We need a man here, Leslie.  Better stay.  Are you comfortable in the forecastle?”

“Yes, Miss Lee.”

“And the food is all right?”

“The cook says I am eating two men’s rations.”

She turned to leave, smiling.  It was the first time she had thrown even a fleeting smile my way, and it went to my head.