"Oh, very well," assented the young sailor, smiling at her; "I have been under orders, it seems to me, ever since I was born. First mother, then Josephine, and now you."
He sat down in the stern-sheets with affected resignation and gathered up the yoke-lines.
Emily's face had changed somewhat at this last remark, but she said nothing as she cast off the painter, stepped to the thwart, shoved off the boat, broke out the oars, and pulled away. She rowed a pretty stroke, quite as deft as Revere's had been, though lacking somewhat in power. As they cleared the wharf and headed out into the bay toward the Point she looked up at him.
"You have always been under orders, you say?"
"Yes."
"First your mother?"
"Yes."
"And then,—who did you say?" with poorly simulated indifference.
"Josephine,—Miss Josephine Remington," carelessly.
"And who is she?"