In the act of holding out her hand, the woman’s delicate face took on that marble look that once or twice Hildegarde had seen there. And the hand dropped before it reached Cheviot’s. Hildegarde looked from one to the other. “Why, what is it?” “We have met before,” said Mrs. Locke. “When was that?” “On the Seattle wharf.” “Oh, I didn’t remember.” “I do. You are the man who nearly broke my arm.” CHAPTER XX Mrs. Locke had gone below and left them staring at one another. “I haven’t the smallest recollection of the woman.” She clutched at hope. “You couldn’t have been the one.” “_She_ doesn’t seem to have much doubt about it.” “But you didn’t—I’m sure you didn’t.” “I certainly did push my way about in that crowd.” “So did everybody.” “I’m afraid it stands to reason a man does that kind of thing more effectually than a woman. Your Mrs. What’s-her-name may be right.” “Oh, Louis!” “If she is, I’m sorry.” “You simply _couldn’t_ have—” “Well, I don’t know. I remember perfectly, I was frantic at not finding you.” Ashamed of the warmth his words brought welling up about her heart—“And you didn’t think much of the women you did find. Yes, I remember what you said about the women who go on this sort of journey. But you’re wrong, you see. I know them now.” He made no answer. Just stood there, hands in pockets, arctic cap rolled back, so that it sat turban-like on the crown of his head; the perplexity in the face giving way to a somewhat dogged good-temper that declined to be ruffled by the incident. “Some of the women are just as—are more deserving of being treated well than I am.” “Oh, I dare say some of them are all right.” He leaned against the railing, his square chin lifted, and he studied the man in the crow’s-nest—but he went on saying in that cool way, “I’m not denying that I would have broken any number of bones rather than not get to you in time to save you from coming to harm.” “Oh, _don’t_ say it! That’s exactly what Mrs. Locke thinks.” “Oh, Mrs. Locke!”—he moved his shoulders impatiently—“I’m sorry if she got hurt. But in my opinion neither of you ought to have been there. Don’t think my view about that is altered by your having come off scot free so far. You see somebody did suffer.” “Mrs. Locke.” “It’s just a chance it wasn’t you.” “Don’t you see that it wouldn’t be a chance if men treated all women as well as you’d have treated me?” “Men would have to feel about all women as I feel about you before that could come about, and that wouldn’t even be desirable. It certainly isn’t practical politics.” “Oh, I wish I were clever and could argue. I know there are things to say only I don’t see how to put them.” “There’s this to say”—he stood up, a little impatiently—“I’ve never posed as a passive individual. If I see things in my way I”—he made an expressive little gesture—“I set them aside. If I hurt Mrs. Locke in setting her aside, I’m sorry. But women have no business being in the way at such times.”