Donald Lane was not in a good humour. He had followed Anne from the saloon, and, standing now unobtrusively in the shadow of one of the deck houses, he mentally cursed Captain Croon with fervency and abandon. Up and down, up and down! Did the man imagine, just because he commanded the benighted old scow, that he could appropriate Anne forever!
He wanted to talk to Anne—and he meant to do so, in spite of the fact that she had very noticeably and obviously avoided him. He had thought his chance would have come up here on deck immediately after she had left the saloon, but Captain Croon clung on and on.
HeWhat was the matter with Anne? What had happened? He stood pulling viciously at his cigarette—his eyes lighting up as his gaze followed her while she was in sight on his side of the deck;
