It seemed to Caius too cruel, too horribly cruel, that she should be tortured by this temptation.

Because he knew that to her it could be nothing but temptation, he sat silent when O'Shea, seeing that the lady's gaze was afar, signed to him for aid; and because he hoped that she might yield he was silent, and did not come to rescue her from the tormentor.
O'Shea gave him a look of undisguised scorn; but since he would not woo, it appeared that this man was able to do some wooing for him.
"Of course," remarked O'Shea, "I see difficulties.

If the doctor here was a young man of parts, I'd easier put ye and Mammy in his care; but old Skipper Pierre is no milksop." Josephine looked, first alert, as if suspecting an ill-bred joke, and then, as O'Shea appeared to be speaking to her quite seriously, forgetting that Caius might overhear, there came upon her face a look of gentle severity.
"That is not what I think of the doctor; I would trust him more quickly than anyone else, except you, O'Shea." The words brought to Caius a pang, but he hardly noticed it in watching the other two, for the lady, when she had spoken, looked off again with longing at the sea, and O'Shea, whose rough heart melted under the trustful affection of the exception she made, for a moment turned away his head.

Caius saw in him the man whom he had only once seen before, and that was when his child had died.

It was but a few moments; the easy quizzical manner sat upon him again.
"Oh, well, he hasn't got much to him one way or the other, but----" this in low, confidential tones.
Caius could not hear her reply; he saw that she interrupted, earnestly vindicating him.