y forgot you. He hurries on to you and
offers you the necklace that he risked his life to get. And you--what
did you say?"

"What did I say? I told him that perhaps he knew somebody that he'd
rather give it to before me----"

"Before you? There's a woman. You're not satisfied when a man fights
all the devil in himself for you, but you must rub it into him while
he's doing it. Maurice--or maybe you don't understand. You could say
things like that to a dog--if a dog could understand--and he'd come
back and lick your hand. Maurice has blood and fire in him. And here's
a woman--whatever else she is--is warm-blooded too. She wants Maurice,
and, by God, she'll get him if you keep on. Do you remember the night
of the Master Mariners' ball--the night before we sailed on the
Southern cruise? Well, that night this woman, she waits for Maurice
and stops him on his way home. But she didn't get him. He was up in
the wind for a minute or two, but one spoke of the wheel and he found
his head again. Again last June in Newport on a warm summer's
night--flowers, music, wine--the cabin of a beautiful yacht--she asks
him to wait over a day or two in Newport harbor. Does he? Does he? Not
Maurice. With never a touch of the wheel, off he swings and drives for
home. And why didn't he stay? Why, do you suppose? Didn't he tell you
a while ago? Good God! Look here--you're no fool. Look at me--ten
years ago I was another Maurice. And this woman--I tell you she knows
men. She don't care whether a man is rich or poor, tall or short, thin
or fat, so long as she likes him. And I tell you she loves Maurice--as
well as she can love--and she's not a good enough woman--there it is.
And they're all saying you're likely to marry Withrow. Wait now.
Withrow, I'm telling you, isn't fit to wash the gurry off Maurice's
jack-boots. I'm a careless man, Miss Foster, and in my life I've done
things I wish now I hadn't, but I draw the line above the head of a
man like Withrow. Whatever I am, I'm too good to be company for Fred
Withrow. And on top of all that he's so carried away with this other
woman--this same woman--and she caring more for Maurice's eyelash than
Withrow's whole two hundred and ten pounds--Withrow is so carried away
with her that he is ready to elope with her--elope with her! I know
that--never mind how. Bring Withrow and me together, and I'll tell
him--tell him, yes, and throw him through the door afterward if he
denies it. This woman is enough o