She permitted herself a trill of laughter.
"You speak as if you had full knowledge of his ways," she admitted. "But the nuns at St. Bridget's were telling me oft and oft how I was going out into the wicked world, and sorra a look at wickedness have I had yet. So I decided this evening I should have some savor of adventure to make up for being cooped all these weeks in that horrid, dirty old ship; and I made Don Pablo, who was officer of the deck, call away a boat for me—and he wringing his hands and pleading would I bring about his ruin."
I laughed, myself, at the wonderful spontaneity of her mood. Faith, I could imagine how the young dons aboard the frigate philandered themselves sick over her.
"But that has naught to do with your going to the Whale's Head tonight," I reminded her. "Indeed, you should never think of it."
"I will be the judge of that," she retorted, instantly haughty. "And if my father is there I can come to no harm."
"If he is," I said. "I doubt you have mistaken his ordinary."
"No, no," she said decidedly. "I heard him speaking with them of it. But it may be you are right, sir, and I will not be so ungrateful as to flout a kindly stranger's well-meant advice. Juan can go into the tavern when we come to it, and I will bide outside. But somewhere I must walk, for my feet are all dancey with the sway of the sea, and we shall be away again with the tide in the morning. This is the last dry land I shall tread in many a week."
"If you will allow me, I'll put you on your way for the Whale's Head," I offered. "I must walk in that direction."
"Sure, sir, it is a great favor you offer," she answered. "I can not but thank you."
And she gave an order in Spanish which fetched the under-officer she called Juan and one of his men out from the shadows. They fell in behind us as we walked off along the line of the warehouses.