“If you will come up here, Mr —”
“Hume,” said Frank briefly, filling up the pause.
“Mr Hume, you may talk with less discomfort.”
Webster, with a whispered word to Frank to “come off his stilts,” lurched to the chart-room, and Frank, with a feeling of resentment at the girl’s cold speech, mounted the steps to the bridge, where he waited with what patience he could muster until she chose to take her gaze off the sea, which she did presently, turning her magnificent eyes, and letting them dwell on his face in a calm scrutiny.
“Did Mr Webster tell you,” she asked in slow, formal speech, “that I had an offer to make?”
“He did suggest that I might hope for a berth in the cook’s galley.”
She did not smile at this as a man would have done, but frowned slightly. “I am—rather, the ship is—short-handed, and I wish you to take your turn in the officers’ watch.”
“But, Miss—” Here he paused with an inquiring look at her.
“You can call me madam,” she said.
He bowed, with a smile at her composure. “I am obliged for your confidence in me; but I am not competent to fill a responsible place.”