Ill luck, I reasoned, could not make a man mean unless the man already had the instincts of a mean person to start with. It would only make him a little more careful and more stern of purpose. I knew that a man with ill luck always appears mean to women, because women can seldom realize anything but success as a combination of all the virtues in man. It is probably best for them that this is so, for it dissolves a great many combinations between men and women which might result in great discomfort to both. Therefore, I determined to dismiss the matter from my mind. We had lost two men during the gale, and there was work to be done on our spars and rigging that would keep all hands busy for several days. In spite of the feeling of relief which was expressed on the faces of all the men, there was a silence among them that told plainly how the loss of a shipmate will affect even the roughest sailor at first. The dead man in the fo’c’sle was a ghastly sight, and the wounded one groaned loudly at times, so it was little wonder that the men of the starboard watch refused to heave down with a chorus when they trimmed the braces. O’Toole cursed them roundly for a half-hearted set of loafers. He always cursed men from habit, and never struck them when his ideas and theirs were found to be different. As the morning wore on, the sun shone at brief intervals through the gaps between the flying gulf clouds, and its warmth began to dry out our wet clothes and make things more cheerful. Miss Waters joined us at breakfast, and appeared none the worse for the shaking up she had been through. She was dressed in a neat-fitting cloth jacket that showed off her beautiful figure to great advantage, and she chatted and laughed in gentle good humour. I have been in almost all countries and have seen nearly all kinds of women, but it seemed to me at that time that I had never seen one so beautiful in face and figure, and so gentle in disposition. The girl, however, always appeared more interested in the third mate than in anything else. Of course, I didn’t resent this, but it somehow made me feel conscious of my rough appearance, and convinced me that my sailor manners were out of place at the cabin table while she sat there. Her deep blue eyes had a roguish look in them as she glanced across at me this morning. I saw that she intended to say something to me, and I felt my cheeks burn at the fear of some allusion to the unfortunate incident of the evening before. “Well, Mr. Gore,” she broke forth, “I suppose you are not going to forgive me for wishing for that storm? You can’t be so superstitious as to believe that my wishing had anything to do with the state of the weather. You need never fear that I’ll wish for another, though, for I never was so frightened before in all my life.”