“Like him!” burst from Susan’s overcharged heart.  An amazed question or two from him brought the whole story out.  The hour, the darkness, the effect of Josephine’s protected happiness, and above all, the desire to hold him, to awaken his interest, combined to break down her guard.

She told him everything, passionately and swiftly, dwelling only upon the swift rush of events that had confused her sense of right and wrong, and upon the writer’s unparalleled devotion.

Billy, genuinely shocked at her share of the affair, was not inclined to take Bocqueraz’s protestations very seriously.  Susan found herself in the odious and unforeseen position of defending Stephen Bocqueraz’s intentions.

“What a dirty rotter he must be, when he seemed such a prince!” was William’s summary.  “Pretty tough on you, Sue,” he added, with fraternal kindly contempt, “Of course you would take him seriously, and believe every word!  A man like that knows just how to go about it,—­and Lord, you came pretty near getting in deep!”

Susan’s face burned and she bit her lip in the darkness.  It was unbearable that Billy should think Bocqueraz less in earnest than she had been, should imagine her so easily won!  She wished heartily that she had not mentioned the affair.

“He probably does that everywhere he goes,” said Billy, thoughtfully.  “You had a pretty narrow escape, Sue, and I’ll bet he thought he got out of it pretty well, too!  After the thing had once started, he probably began to realize that you are a lot more decent than most, and you may bet he felt pretty rotten about it—–­”

“Do you mean to say that he didn’t mean to—–­” began Susan hotly, stung even beyond anger by outraged pride.  But, as the enormity of her question smote her suddenly, she stopped short, with a sensation almost of nausea.

“Marry you?” Billy finished it for her.  “I don’t know—­probably he would.  Lord, Lord, what a blackguard!  What a skunk!” And Billy got up with a short breath, as if he were suffocating, walked away from her, and began to walk up and down across the broad dark deck.

Susan felt bitter remorse and shame sweep her like a flame as he left her.  She felt, sitting there alone in the darkness, as if she would die of the bitterness of knowing herself at last.  In beginning her confidence, she had been warmed by the thought of the amazing and romantic quality of her news, she had thought that Bocqueraz’s admiration would seem a great thing in Billy’s eyes.  Now she felt sick and cold and ashamed, the glamour fell, once and for all, from what she had done and, as one hideous memory after another roared in her ears, Susan felt as if her thoughts would drive her mad.

Billy came suddenly back to his seat beside her, and laid his hand over hers.  She knew that he was trying to comfort her.

“Never you mind, Sue,” he said, “it’s not your fault that there are men rotten enough to take advantage of a girl like you.  You’re easy, Susan, you’re too darned easy, you poor kid.  But thank God, you got out in time.  It would have killed your aunt,” said Billy, with a little shudder, “and I would never have forgiven myself.  You’re like my own sister, Sue, and I never saw it coming!  I thought you were wise to dope like that—–­”