" "May be not," replied the old sailor, drily; "but you'll find it too stiff for you tonight, anyhow. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. White, I am not sure that I could afford to come to you. You have made enough sacrifices for her surely without this. ‘Do you think I would do to him as he made a threat to do to me? No. "An idea has just occurred to me," said Gay, "which Jack's narrative has suggested.
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