The timidity she evinced was nothing put on. It was real. Its cause he could not fathom, but to Tunis Latham it seemed that this girl with the violet eyes was a gentle girl, if not gently bred, and that she shrank from contact with the rougher elements of life. How she came to be working in this place was not of moment to him. It would not have mattered to Tunis Latham where he had met her or under what circumstances; he only knew that there was a mysterious charm about her which attracted and held his heart captive. "Will you have anything more, sir?" The low, yet penetrating voice was in his ear. She hovered over his chair and her near presence thrilled him. He had not much more than played with the food. Now he replied briefly, without thinking: "Apple-meringue." "Yes, sir." His neighbor pushed back his chair and got up noisily. He picked up his check, glanced at it, and snorted. "Hey!" he said to the girl returning with Tunis' pie. "What's this for?" "Yes, sir?" "You've rung me up an extry nickel. What's the idea?" "Fifteen cents for meringue, sir." "Huh? Who had meringue? I had apple pie, plain apple pie. It's ten cents. This feller"--indicating Tunis--"ordered apple-meringue; not me." He held out the check for correction belligerently. "You ordered apple-meringue, sir, and I brought it. You ate it. The check is correct." Low and timid as the voice was, gently as the words were spoken, Tunis sensed an undercurrent of firmness and determination in the girl's character that he had not before suspected. "Say, you don't put nothing like that over on me!" exclaimed the man loudly. Tunis moved in his chair. He saw the black-haired man at the front of the restaurant swing about to face down the room. He had heard this unseemly disturbance. "I will call the manager." "And so will I--I'll call him good!" sneered the patron. "He knows that you crooks in here over-charge. He puts you up to it. That's why he hires jailbirds and--" Tunis had got up, pushed back his chair with his foot, and as the girl uttered a horrified gasp at the rough speech, he seized the man. His grip on the back of the fellow's coat between his shoulders brought a startled grunt from lips parted to continue his blackguardism. "Hey! What d'ye mean?" roared the fellow, as Tunis twisted him into the aisle. "You dog!" said the captain of the _Seamew_ in a low voice. "Down on your knees and ask the lady's pardon for that speech!" The black-haired man started toward them. His coarse face had a smile on it as vicious as the snarl of a tiger. He put up his hand in a gesture of command. "Beg her pardon!" repeated Tunis, and by the great weight of his hand crushed the squalling patron of the restaurant to his knees before the terrified girl. "Stop that! What do you mean?" cried the manager of the restaurant, still several yards away.