<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XVII"></SPAN>CHAPTER XVII</h2></div>
<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">“Will</span> you be seated, Miss Hemster?” I
said with such calmness as I could
bring to my command.</p>
<p>“No, I won’t,” she snapped, like the click of a rifle.</p>
<p>I don’t know why it is that this girl always called
forth hitherto unsuspected discourtesy which I regret
to admit seems to lie very deep in my nature. I was
bitterly angry at her rude dismissal of Hilda Stretton.</p>
<p>“Oh, very well; stand then!” I retorted with inexcusable
lack of chivalry, and, that my culpability should
be complete, immediately slammed myself emphatically
down into the chair from which I had just risen. As I
came down with a thump that made the wicker chair
groan in protest, the look the lady bestowed upon me
must have resembled that of the Medusa which turned
people into stone.</p>
<p>“Well, you <em>are</em> polite, I must say,” she exclaimed,
with a malicious swish of her skirts as she walked to
and fro before me.</p>
<p>“You so monopolize all politeness on board this
yacht,” was my unmannerly rejoinder, “that there is
none of it left for the rest of us.”</p>
<p>She stopped in her rapid walk and faced me.</p>
<p>“You’re a brute,” she said deliberately.</p>
<p>“You expressed that opinion before. Why not try
something original?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_195">195</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“Do you think that is a gentlemanly remark to
make?” she asked.</p>
<p>“No, I don’t. Some years of vagabondage coupled
with more recent events have destroyed all claim I ever
possessed to being a gentleman.”</p>
<p>“You admit, then, you are the scum of the earth.”</p>
<p>“Oh, certainly.”</p>
<p>Suddenly she flounced herself down in the chair
Hilda had occupied, and stared at me for a few moments.
Then she said in a voice much modified:</p>
<p>“What were you and Miss Stretton discussing so
earnestly when I came up?”</p>
<p>“Didn’t you hear?”</p>
<p>“No. I am no eavesdropper, but I know you were
talking of me.”</p>
<p>“Ah, then you didn’t hear.”</p>
<p>“I told you I didn’t, but I tell you what I suspect.”</p>
<p>“Then your suspicions are entirely unfounded, Miss
Hemster.”</p>
<p>“I don’t believe it, but I’ll say this for you; however
much of a beast you may be, you are rather unhandy
at a lie; so if you wish to convince me that you
are speaking the truth, you must tell me, without taking
time to consider, what you were talking about if you
were not talking of me.”</p>
<p>All this was uttered at lightning speed.</p>
<p>“I need no time for consideration to answer that
question. We were talking of ourselves.”</p>
<p>“What were you saying? Come now, out with it if
you dare. I can see by your face you are trying to
make up something.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_196">196</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“Really, you underestimate my courage, Miss Hemster.
I was asking Hilda Stretton to do me the honour
of marrying me, and she was about to reply when you
cut short a conference so absorbing that we had not
noticed your approach.”</p>
<p>This explanation seemed to be so unexpected that for
a moment the young woman sat breathless and expressionless.
Then she gradually sank back in her chair
with closed eyes, all colour leaving her face.</p>
<p>Now, I am well aware of the effect the words just
written will have on the mind of the indulgent reader.
She will think I’m trying to hint that the girl, despite
her actions, was in love with me. I beg to state that
I am no such conceited ass as the above paragraph
would imply. My wife has always held that Gertrude
Hemster <em>was</em> in love with me, but that is merely the
prejudiced view of an affectionate woman, and I have
ever strenuously combated it. The character of Gertrude
Hemster has for long been a puzzle to me, and
I can hardly expect the credence of the reader when I
say that I have toned down her words and actions
rather than exaggerated them. But my own theory of
the case is this: Miss Hemster had an inordinate love
of conquest and power. I think I should have got
along better with her if I had proposed to her and
taken my rejection in a broken and contrite spirit.
That she would have rejected me, I am as positive as
that I breathe. I am equally certain that, while she
would have scorned to acknowledge me as a favoured
lover, she was nevertheless humiliated to know that I
had given preference to one upon whom she rather<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_197">197</SPAN></span>
looked down,—one whom she regarded as a recipient
of her own bounty,—and the moment I made my confession
I was sorry I had done so, for Hilda’s sake.</p>
<p>It has also been hinted,—I shall not say by whom,—that
I was on a fair way of being in love with Gertrude
Hemster if everything had progressed favourably. I
need hardly point out to the reader the utter erroneousness
of this surmise. I do not deny that during the
first day of our acquaintance I was greatly attracted
by her, or perhaps I should say wonderfully interested
in her. I had never met any one just like her before,
nor have I since for that matter. But that I was even
on the verge of being in love with her I emphatically
deny. I have no hesitation in confessing that she was
the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, when it
pleased her to be gracious. She would certainly have
made a superb actress if Fortune had cast her rôle
upon the stage. But, as I have said, I never understood
this woman, or comprehended her lightning
changes of character. I do not know to this day
whether she was merely a shallow vixen or a creature
of deep though uncontrolled passion. I therefore
content myself with setting down here, as accurately
as possible, what happened on the various occasions of
which I speak, so that each reader may draw her own
conclusions, if indeed there are any conclusions to be
drawn, and I do this as truthfully as may be, at the
risk of some misunderstanding of my own position, as
in the present instance.</p>
<p>The silence which followed my announcement was at
last broken by a light sarcastic laugh.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_198">198</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“Really, Mr. Tremorne,” she said, “it is not very
flattering to me to suppose that I am interested in the
love affairs of the servants’ hall.”</p>
<p>I bowed my acknowledgment of this thrust.</p>
<p>“My statement, Miss Hemster, was not made for
your entertainment, or with any hope that it would engage
your attention, but merely as an answer to your
direct question.”</p>
<p>“So two penniless paupers are going to unite their
fortunes!”</p>
<p>“Penniless, only relatively so; paupers, no.”</p>
<p>“Nothing added to nothing makes how much, Mr.
Tremorne?”</p>
<p>“Madam, I am an Oxford man.”</p>
<p>“What has that to do with it?”</p>
<p>“Much. Cambridge is the mathematical university.
I never was good at figures.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps that’s why you threw away your money.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps. Still, the money I threw away yesterday
belonged to your father.”</p>
<p>“Is that to remind me of the debt I am supposed to
owe you?”</p>
<p>“You owe me nothing. If anybody owes me anything
I am certain Mr. Hemster will discharge the debt
with his usual generosity.”</p>
<p>“Oh, you are counting on that, are you?”</p>
<p>“We have Biblical assurance, Miss Hemster, of the
fact that the labourer is worthy of his hire. My hire is
all I expect, and all I shall accept.”</p>
<p>“Well, it is my hope that your term of employment
will be as short as possible; therefore I ask you to resign<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_199">199</SPAN></span>
your position as soon as we reach Nagasaki. Your
presence on this ship is odious to me.”</p>
<p>“I am sorry for that.”</p>
<p>“Then you won’t resign?”</p>
<p>“I say that I am sorry my presence on this ship is
odious to you.”</p>
<p>“You can at once solve the problem by resigning, as
I have suggested.”</p>
<p>“I dispute your right to make suggestions to me.
If you want me to leave the yacht, ask your father to
discharge me.”</p>
<p>“There is always a certain humiliation in abrupt dismissal.
If you do not go voluntarily, and without
telling my father that I have asked you to resign, I
shall put Hilda Stretton ashore at Nagasaki with
money enough to pay her passage home.”</p>
<p>“How generous of you! First-class or steerage?”</p>
<p>Her face became a flame of fire, and she clenched her
hands till the nails bit the pink palms.</p>
<p>“You sneaking reptile!” she cried, her voice trembling
with anger; “you backbiting, underhand beast!
What lies have you dared tell my father about me?”</p>
<p>“You are under some strange misapprehension, Miss
Hemster,” I replied, with a coolness which earned my
mental approbation, fervently hoping at the same time
that I might continue to maintain control over my deplorable
temper; “you have jumped at a conclusion
not borne out by fact. I assure you I have never discussed
you with your father, and should not venture to
do so.”</p>
<p>I remembered the moment I had spoken that I had<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_200">200</SPAN></span>
just promised another lady to do that very thing.
What everybody says must be true when they state that
my thoughts are awkward and ungainly, rarely coming
up to the starting-point until too late. I fear this tardy
recollection brought the colour to my face, for the
angry eyes of the girl were upon me, and she evidently
misread this untimely flushing. She leaned across the
little wicker table and said in a calm, unruffled voice,
marked with the bitterness of hate:</p>
<p>“You are a liar.”</p>
<p>I rose to my feet with the intention of leaving her,
but she sprang up with a nimbleness superior to my
own, and before I was aware of what she was about she
thrust her two hands against my breast and plumped
me unexpectedly down into my chair again. It was a
ludicrous and humiliating situation, but I was too
angry to laugh about it. Standing over me, she hissed
down at me:</p>
<p>“You heard what I said.”</p>
<p>“Perfectly, and I am resolved that there shall be no
further communication between us.”</p>
<p>“Oh, are you? Well, you’ll listen to what I have
to say, or I’ll add ‘coward’ to ‘liar.’ Either you or
Hilda Stretton has been poisoning my father’s mind
against me. Which was it?”</p>
<p>“It was I, of course.”</p>
<p>“Then you admit you are a liar?”</p>
<p>“‘All men are liars,’ said the Psalmist, so why
should I be an exception?”</p>
<p>“You are very good at quoting the Bible, aren’t
you? Why don’t you live up to it?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_201">201</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“I should be the better man if I did.”</p>
<p>“Will you resign at Nagasaki, then?”</p>
<p>“I shall do exactly what your father orders me
to do.”</p>
<p>“That is precisely the answer I should have expected
from a mud-wallower who came to us from the gutter.”</p>
<p>“You are mistaken. I lived up on a hill.”</p>
<p>“Well, I give you warning, that if you don’t leave
this yacht you will regret it.”</p>
<p>“I shall probably regret the tender memories of your
conversation, Miss Hemster; but if you think to
frighten me I beg to point out that it is really yourself
who is in danger, as you might know if experience
taught the class of persons it is said to teach. You
have called me a brute and a beast and all the rest of it,
and have partly persuaded me that you are right.
Now the danger to you lies in the fact that you will go
just a step too far on one of these occasions, and then I
shall pick you up and throw you overboard. Now allow
me to say that you have about reached the limit,
likewise to inform you that I shall not resign.”</p>
<p>I now arose, confronting her, and flung the wicker
chair to the other side of the deck. Then, taking off
my hat, I left her standing there.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_202">202</SPAN></span></p>
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