After glancing round the deck, which seemed charmingly arranged, they at once descended to the cabin for lunch, for their little journey had made them hungry. Here the captain left them with a few courteous words of excuse. A moment later, as he was leaving the ship, he met two strangers coming on board, laden with hand-baggage. They were, though unknown to him, the journalist and the tramp. On asking them sharply what their business was, Marchmont replied very glibly that he was his Lordship's valet, and that he had hired this man to bring down the luggage from the station.
"I don't think your master'll need his traps, as he's only going out for the afternoon," said the captain. "But you'd better take them down to the cabin, and see the porter gets off before they start. I don't allow strangers aboard."
The valet touched his hat respectfully, and went up the gangway, followed by the obsequious porter. A moment later they reached the deck, and no sooner had the captain disappeared round a corner than both men approached the second mate, with whom they had a hurried and earnest conversation, followed by an interchange of something which that officer transferred to his trousers-pocket and jingled appreciatively.
The ropes were now cast off, and they got under way, while Marchmont stole very quietly to the door of the hatchway which led down to the saloon where the Bishop and the actress were unsuspectingly lunching, and softly turned the key.
"Mayn't I cut you a slice of this cold ham, my dear?" asked the Bishop in his most fatherly tones.
"Not while the pigeon-pie lasts," said his fair companion. "But you may give me a glass of champagne, if you will. I see some going to waste in an ice-cooler over there in the corner."
"I was hoping the steward would come," ventured his Lordship.
"Well, I hope he won't. Being tête-à-tête is much more fun, don't you think? Give the bottle to me, and I'll show you how to open it and not spill a drop. In some respects your education's been neglected."
"I'm afraid it has," admitted the Bishop, assisting her with his pen-knife.
His Lordship felt recklessly jovial. To lunch alone with a young lady who opened champagne with a dexterity that bespoke considerable practice must be very wicked, he felt certain, and he was shocked to realise that he didn't care if it was. His years of repression were beginning to find their outlet in a natural reaction.