A Millionaire at Sixteen by Oliver Optic

Captain Scoble rose from the divan in front of a berth where he had remained while the mate was at his dinner, his face covered with his hands, as though he were in a state of suffering, and walked toward Mrs. Belgrave.

"Maud" said he, pausing with folded arms in front of her after he had uttered her name.

They had been husband and wife for two years, and Louis was not disposed to embarrass them with his presence, especially as he felt that he could trust his mother to fight her own battle as far as their personal relations was concerned. He retired from his position on the divan at his mother's side, and seated himself near the pantry, where he could observe the operations of the steward. He did not intend to leave the cabin even for a moment, and he was ready to interfere whenever the comfort or the safety of his mother required.

Scoble had uttered the first name of Mrs. Belgrave as he had been accustomed to address her in the past. He had done so in the most impressive manner he could command, and the tone seemed to come up from his boots, its lowness perhaps indicating the depth of his feeling. The lady bestowed a single glance upon him, and then fixed her gaze on the carpet, which had been a new one at no remote period, devoting her mind to a study of the figures.

Probably the captain expected a reply from her. If he did he was disappointed. The lady was no actress, and if she had gone on the stage, which was an abomination to her, her face and form would have been her only stock in trade. She said not a word, either with her voice or her eyes.

"Maud, is it thus that we meet after a separation of two years? " continued Scoble, his voice still coming from the vicinity of his boots.

She did not answer him: she did not even look at him.

"You are silent, Maud," he proceeded, even more impressively than before; and in the absence of any evidence to the contrary, his vanity lead him to believe he had made a success of the first scene.

As she made no response, he seated himself at her side. Then he moved up a little nearer to her, as doubtless he had done in earlier days. The lady retreated to the farthest end of the divan. This movement did not please the practised diplomate, and he rose from his seat, taking a standing position in front of her. Louis was near enough to hear what the captain said, and to see what both of them did; and the last action on the part of his mother was particularly satisfactory to him.

"Won't you speak to me, Maud? " asked Scoble in a tone disconsolate enough to come from a graveyard.

"I have nothing to say," she replied, bestowing upon him a glance as blank as any coquette could have given in the practice of her art.

"You have nothing to say to me after a separation of two years, two long years that seemed endless to me? " said the melancholy master of the Maud.

"Nothing at all. I wish the separation had been fifty years longer," replied the lady in a tone that satisfied the son that all was going well at the other end of the cabin.

"O Maud! Can it be you who speak to me in this cruel manner?"

"You can have no doubt that it is I. If you have, I add that I have earnestly hoped I should never see your face again," returned the lady, with vim enough to satisfy the interested listener near the pantry.

"Am I so changed? Is my face odious to you now? " groaned the captain.

"Your face is the same; but you are all face: there is nothing of you but face. There is nothing at all behind it. You are utterly hollow and wicked."

"O Maud! How can you be so cruel! Am I not your husband?"

"No! " she almost shouted, as she sprang from the divan, and stood in front of him, looking him squarely in the eye this time.

"Did I not lead you to the holy altar in your own church? Were we not made one by your own minister? " demanded Scoble, becoming even more impressive as he proceeded.