In silence they returned to the upper deck.  The intoxication of sudden passion now under control, Theriere was again master of himself and ready to play the cold, calculating, waiting game that he had determined upon.  Part of his plan was to see just enough of Miss Harding to insure a place in her mind at all times; but not enough to suggest that he was forcing himself upon her.  Rightly, he assumed that she would appreciate thoughtful deference to her comfort and safety under the harrowing conditions of her present existence more than a forced companionship that might entail too open devotion on his part.  And so he raised his cap and left her, only urging her to call upon him at any time that he might be of service to her.

Left alone the girl became lost in unhappy reflections, and in the harrowing ordeal of attempting to readjust herself to the knowledge that Larry Divine, her lifelong friend, was the instigator of the atrocious villainy that had been perpetrated against her and her father.  She found it almost equally difficult to believe that Mr. Theriere was so much more sinned against than sinning as he would have had her believe.  And yet, did his story not sound even more plausible than that of Divine which she had accepted before Theriere had made it possible for her to know the truth?  Why, then, was it so difficult for her to believe the Frenchman?  She could not say, but in the inmost recesses of her heart she knew that she mistrusted and feared the man.

As she stood leaning against the rail, buried deep in thought, Billy Byrne passed close behind her.  At sight of her a sneer curled his lip.  How he hated her!  Not that she ever had done aught to harm him, but rather because she represented to him in concrete form all that he had learned to hate and loathe since early childhood.

Her soft, white skin; her shapely hands and well-cared-for nails; her trim figure and perfectly fitting suit all taunted him with their superiority over him and his kind.  He knew that she looked down upon him as an inferior being.  She was of the class that addressed those in his walk of life as “my man.”  Lord, how he hated that appellation!

The intentness of his gaze upon her back had the effect so often noted by the observant, and suddenly aroused from the lethargy of her misery the girl swung around to meet the man’s eyes squarely upon her.  Instantly she recognized him as the brute who had killed Billy Mallory.  If there had been hate in the mucker’s eyes as he looked at the girl, it was as nothing by comparison with the loathing and disgust which sprang to hers as they rested upon his sullen face.

So deep was her feeling of contempt for this man, that the sudden appearance of him before her startled a single exclamation from her.

“Coward!” came the one word, involuntarily, from her lips.

The man’s scowl deepened menacingly.  He took a threatening step toward her.