Jane drew near, swinging her broad-brimmed hat in her hand and stepping from stone to stone with the lithe grace of a youthful dryad. She had discarded her petticoat and wore only a jersey and knickers.
"Jane," shouted Cornelius James, as she approached. "He's in the Navy, but he doesn't know Daddy." He made a gesture of proprietorship in the direction of the impassive figure seated in the heather.
Jane waded ashore and extended her hand with friendly unconsciousness of self.
"How d'you do?" she said, and devoured him with round grey eyes. "Did you ever know Mr. Standish?" she inquired.
Her brother's protégé nodded smiling. "Bunje?" he said. "Yes, rather—I was shipmates along of Jim."
He lapsed jestingly into the vernacular of the lower deck.
"Jane loves him," interposed Cornelius James. "She was going to marry him only he got married to someone else. She was awfully sick—weren't you, Jane?"
"Shut up," was the graceful retort of the woman scorned. "And did you know Torps—Mr. Mainwaring? He was killed," she added gravely.
"No, never shipmates with him. Heard about him, though. White man by all accounts."
"He was a darling," said Jane, simply. "It's dreadful to think of him dead. But I don't think frightfully nice people really die, do you?"