Shirley sighed and a worried, anxious look came into her face.
“Yes, Captain, I shall be very glad. It is not pleasure that is bringing me back to America so soon.”
The captain elevated his eyebrows. He was sorry the young lady had anxieties to keep her so serious, and he hoped she would find everything all right on her arrival. Then, politely saluting, he passed on, only to halt again a few paces on where his bewhiskered gallantry met with more encouragement.
Mrs. Blake rose from her chair. The air was decidedly cooler, she would go downstairs and prepare for dinner. Shirley said she would remain on deck a little longer. She was tired of walking, so when her aunt left them she took her chair and told Jefferson to get another. He wanted nothing better, but before seating himself he took the rugs and wrapped Shirley up with all the solicitude of a mother caring for her first born. Arranging the pillow under her head, he asked:
“Is that comfortable?”
She nodded, smiling at him.
“You're a good boy, Jeff. But you'll spoil me.”
“Nonsense,” he stammered as he took another chair and put himself by her side. “As if any fellow wouldn't give his boots to do a little job like that for you!”
She seemed to take no notice of the covert compliment. In fact, she already took it as a matter of course that Jefferson was very fond of her.