On the Bridge of Yacht Olenia

In his new pride, in the love which now made all other matters of life
so insignificant, Mayo was afraid of himself; he knew his limitations in
the matter of submission; even then he felt a hankering to walk aft
and jounce Julius Marston up and down in his hammock chair. He did not
believe he could stand calmly in the presence of Alma Marston and listen
to any unjust berating, even from her father.

He tried to put his flaming resentment out of his thoughts, but he could
not. In the end, he told himself that perhaps it was just as well! Alma
Marston must have pride of her own. She could not continue to love a man
who remained in the position of her father's hireling; she would surely
be ashamed of a lover who was willing to hump his back and take a
lashing in public. His desire to be with her, even at the cost of his
pride, was making him less a man and he knew it. He decided to
face Marston, man fashion, and then go away. He felt that she would
understand in spite of her grief.

Then, turning from a look at the compass, he saw that the yacht's owner
was on the bridge. Half of an un-lighted cigar, which was soggy with the
dampness of the fog, plugged Marston's-mouth.

He scowled when the captain saluted.

"You needn't bother to talk now," the millionaire broke in when
Mayo began an explanation of his delay in obeying the call to the
quarter-deck. "When I have anything to say to a man I want his undivided
attention. Is this fog going to hold on?"