‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. She ran from the knave into the women’s quarters. But all those empty years!… My heart was hot. Her faculties seemed for a moment numbed. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. Anna sat quite still for a moment, and then the colour suddenly returned to her cheeks. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. “His stipend forbade it,” she said, and seemed to fall into a train of thought. Her eyes were lit with smouldering passion. Sometimes at sea a skipper will order his men to trim, batten down the hatches, and clear the deck of all litter. What a pig she was. To this day he and every one else thinks that he married Anna.
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