Her dark eyes sparkled; whether there was mischief mingled with resentment, or whether the resentment quite supplanted all other emotions, might have been a difficult problem for the cynic. But when she tilted her chin and stared the offender full in the eyes, propping her plump little hands in the side-pockets of her white reefer, Captain Mayo, like a man hit by a cudgel, was struck with the sudden and bewildering knowledge that he did not know much about women, for she asked, with a quizzical drawl, “Just what is there about me, dear captain, to inspire that everlasting regret which seems to be troubling you so much?” Even then he did not grasp the full import of her provocative question. “It isn't you. I'm the one who is wholly to blame,” he stammered. “I have dared to--But no matter. I know my place. I'll show you I know it.” “You _dared_ to--What have you dared to do--besides what you just did?” “I cannot tell you, Miss Marston. I don't propose to insult you again.” “I command you to tell me, Captain Mayo.” He could not comprehend her mood in the least and his demeanor showed it. Her command had a funny little ripple in it--as of laughter suppressed. There were queer quirks at the corners of her full, red lips. “Now straighten up like your real self! I don't like to see you standing that way. You know I like to have all the folks on the yachts look at our captain when we go into a harbor! You didn't know it? Well, I do. Now what have you dared to do?” He did straighten then. “I have dared to fall in love with you, Miss Marston. So have a lot of other fools, I suppose. But I am the worst of all. I am only a sailor. How I lost control of myself I don't know!” “Not even now?” Still that unexplainable softness in her voice, that strange expression on her face. Being a sailor, he looked on this calm as being ominous presage of a storm. “I am willing to have you report me to your father, Miss Marston. I will take my punishment. I will never offend you again.” “You can control yourself after this, can you?” “Yes, Miss Marston, absolutely.” She hesitated; she smiled. She lowered her eyelids again and surveyed him with the satisfied tolerance a pretty woman can so easily extend when unconquerable ardor has prompted to rashness. “Oh, you funny, prim Yankee!” she murmured. “You don't understand even now just why you did it!” His face revealed that he did not in the least understand. “Come here,” she invited. He went three steps across the narrow cabin and stood in an attitude of respectful obedience before her. “What now, sir?” It was query even more provocative--a smile went with it. “I apologize. I have learned my lesson.” “You need to learn a lot--you are very ignorant,” she replied, with considerable tartness. “Yes,” he agreed, humbly.