Then he turned to the girl with a sneer:
"It might interest Jack Merrivale to hear of this pretty little romance
of yours," he said.
The colour flamed in her cheeks.
"Tell him then!" she said defiantly.
"I think I must," said Fletcher. "He and I are such old friends."
He waited for her to tell him that it was on his account that they had
quarrelled, but she would not so far gratify him, maintaining a stubborn
silence till they drew alongside. Jacques rose to hand her on board.
"I hope you have enjoyed your row," he said courteously.
"Thanks!" she returned briefly, avoiding his eyes. "I think it is too hot
to enjoy anything to-day."
The tea-kettle was singing merrily on the dainty brass spirit-lamp, and
she sat down at the table forthwith.
Jacques stood beside her, silent and friendly as a tame mastiff. Perhaps
his presence after what had just passed between herself and Fletcher made
her nervous, or perhaps her thoughts were elsewhere and she forgot to be
cautious. Whatever the cause, she took up the kettle carelessly and
knocked it against the spirit-lamp with some force.
Jacques swooped forward and steadied it before it could overturn; but the
dodging flame caught the girl's muslin sleeve and set it ablaze in an
instant. She uttered a cry and started up with a wild idea of flinging
herself into the river, but Jacques was too quick for her.
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