It wasn't an order, Mrs. Eaton. It was a request for common decency from you. These aren't just names in a book to us. Mister Simpson is not a subject we discuss with anyone, and the fact that you know about him--quite frankly, it is a private matter and not your business at all. In the nineteen fifties, I'm sure it's nothing, but we're here now and we care very much what is said about us.

[He doesn't know what she knows, although it's good that she doesn't remember him from the book in this case. He certainly would not be this sensitive if Jack weren't on a hunt for answers about his past. If Kay let slip that she'd read these books, and Jack even had a hint of anything that went on in that midshipman's berth, it would be the end of the man's esteem for him. His tone softens a little.]

So I request. No, I beg. Please. Don't speak of him to anyone.