She raised her eyes and looked at me curiously.

“Are you jealous?” she demanded, beginning to smile; then, suddenly the smile vanished and she shot at me a darker look, and stood considering me with lips slightly compressed, hostile and beautiful.

“As for that fop of an Ensign — — ” I began — but she took the word from my mouth:

“A fiddle-stick! It is I who have cause to complain of you, not you of me! You throw dust in my eyes by accusing where you should stand otherwise accused. And you know it!”

“I? Accused of what?”

“If you don’t know, then I need not humiliate myself to inform you. But I think you do know, for you looked guilty enough —