I wanted to ask you if you ever meet Captain Anthony--by
any chance--anywhere--you are a sailor too, are you not?--that you would
never mention--never--that--that you had seen me over there."
"My dear young lady," I cried, horror-struck at the supposition. "Why
should I? What makes you think I should dream of . . . "
She had raised her head at my vehemence. She did not understand it. The
world had treated her so dishonourably that she had no notion even of
what mere decency of feeling is like. It was not her fault. Indeed, I
don't know why she should have put her trust in anybody's promises.
But I thought it would be better to promise. So I assured her that she
could depend on my absolute silence.
"I am not likely to ever set eyes on Captain Anthony," I added with
conviction--as a further guarantee.
She accepted my assurance in silence, without a sign. Her gravity had in
it something acute, perhaps because of that chin. While we were still
looking at each other she declared:
"There's no deception in it really. I want you to believe that if I am
here, like this, to-day, it is not from fear.
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