Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys smiled back divinely. She thought it extremely probable.
A few minutes later the poet sat by Geraldine's side—sweet proximity!—in the stern of one of Her Majesty's boats, while two "minions," as he was wont in verse to term his subordinates, rowed them towards a shapely barque that had just dropped anchor not far from the Bower Slip.
She flew a yellow flag in sign that she hailed from a foreign port, and as the Customs' boat dropped under her quarter Mr. Moggridge shouted—
"Maryland, ahoy!"
"Ahoy!" answered a gruff voice, and a red face looked over the side.
"Captain?" inquired Mr. Moggridge.
"That's me—Uriah T. Potter, Cap'n. Customs, I guess," said the red-faced man, with a slow look at Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys.
"Clean bill of health?"
"Waal, two fo'c's'le hands down with whoopin'-cough: take it you won't keep us in quarantine for that."
The Collector helped Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys up the ship's side. As she alighted on deck a swift glance passed between her and the red-faced man. Quite casually she laid two fingers on her chin. Uriah T. Potter did the same; but Mr. Moggridge was giving some instructions to his minions at the moment, and did not notice it.