His hands were immovable in the pockets of his reefer coat.

The cigar still stuck out between his lips like a miniature jib-boom.

Had he wished to terrify her by a hostile reception, he could not have succeeded more completely, though, to be just, he meant nothing of the sort; his wits being jumbled into chaos by the apparition of the last person then alive whom he expected or desired to see on board the _Andromeda_.
But Iris could not interpret his mood, and she strove vainly to conquer the fear welling up in her breast because of the grim anger that seemed to blaze at her from every line of Coke's brick-red countenance.

In the struggle to pour forth the excuses and protestations that sounded so plausible in her own ears, while secured from observation behind the locked door of her retreat, she blundered unhappily on to the very topic that she had resolved to keep secret.
"Why are you so unwilling to acknowledge me ?" she cried, with a nervous indignation that lent a tremor to her voice.

"You have met me often enough.