A tumult of anger against
him seethed inside her. Her lips felt soiled and she put up her hand and
rubbed them distastefully. He interpreted the action with lightning
swiftness.
"No," he said, a note of grim triumph in his voice. "You can't undo it."
"I wish," she said with quiet intensity, "I wish I'd never set foot on
board your yacht."
"It wouldn't have made a bit of difference," he assured her unconcernedly.
"If it hadn't happened here, it would have happened somewhere else. Just as
it doesn't matter in the least your refusing me--by the way, I suppose I'm
to understand you _have_ refused me?"--mockingly.
"Certainly I've refused you."
"Very good. But even that won't make an atom of difference. You're going to
marry me, you know, in the long run."
"I'm not--" she began, then checked herself wearily. "Oh, don't let's go
over it all again!" She was very pale, and there were dark shadows of
fatigue beneath her eyes.
"We won't," he replied amicably. "We'll go down and see how those reckless
penny-a-hundred gamblers are getting on, instead."
With one of the amazingly sudden transitions of which Ann had already
discovered he was capable, he dismissed the whole matter as though it
were of no importance, and, gathering up her wraps, preceded her in the
direction of the companion-way.
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