It seemed as if the noisy,
disreputable audience had no existence for these two people.
"What a lovely creature!" exclaimed the captain, in a tone of subdued
intensity.
"Yes, she's a pretty girl," muttered the clerk, coolly.
"A pretty girl!" echoed Jernam; "an angel, you mean! I did not know
there were such women in the world; and to think that such a woman
should be here, in this place, in the midst of all this tobacco-smoke,
and noise, and blasphemy! It seems hard, doesn't it, Joyce?"
"I don't see that it's any harder for a pretty woman than an ugly one,"
replied Harker, sententiously. "If the girl had red hair and a snub
nose, you wouldn't take the trouble to pity her. I don't see why you
should concern yourself about her, because she happens to have black
eyes and red lips. I dare say she's a bad lot, like most of 'em about
here, and would as soon pick your pocket as look at you, if you gave
her the chance."
Valentine Jernam made no reply to these observations. It is possible
that he scarcely heard them. The punch came presently; but he pushed
the bowl towards Joyce, and bade that gentleman dispense the mixture.
His own glass remained before him untouched, while the foreign seamen
and Joyce Harker emptied the bowl. When the girl sang, he listened;
when she sat in a listless attitude, in the pauses between her songs,
he watched her face.
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