"Hurt me--good Lord, how could you, of all people, hurt me?" he gently laughed at her. "Unless you turned me down, gave me to understand that, on second thoughts, you didn't find me up to your requirements or some mean class devilry of that kind--of which, by the way, had I judged you capable, you may be sure I should have been uncommonly careful never to come near you again.--No, it isn't that you hurt me; but that you delight me a little overmuch, so that it isn't easy to keep quite level-headed. There's so much to hear and to tell, and such scanty time to hear or tell it in, worse luck." "You are obliged to go so soon?" The flames of jealousy had effectually, it may be noted, died down in Damaris. "Yes--we're taking on cargo for all we're worth. We are booked to sail by noon the day after to-morrow. I stretched a point in leaving at all, which won't put me in the best odour with my officers and crew, or--supposing they come to hear of it--with my owners either. I am giving my plain duty the slip; but, in this singular ease, it seemed to me, a greater duty stood back of and outweighed the plain obvious one--since it mounted to a reconstruction, a peace-making, ridding the souls of four persons of an ugly burden. I wanted the affair all settled up and straightened out before this, my maiden voyage, in command of a ship of my own. For me it is a great event, a great step forward. And, perhaps I'm over-superstitious--most men of my trade are supposed to be touched that way--but I admit I rather cling to the notion of this private peace-making, this straightening out of an ancient crookedness, as a thing of good augury, a favourable omen. As such--let alone other reasons"--and he looked down at Damaris with a fine and delicate admiration--"I desired it and, out of my heart, I prize it.--Do you see?" "Yes--indeed a thing of good augury"--she affirmed.