She had parted from Webster, who was busy with the men, and came slowly picking her way over the litter of coal scattered from the bags by a shell which had ripped up the whole row on the port side, her one hand stretched gracefully to its full length at her side to hold up her skirts, the other at her throat holding a black mantilla which framed her face. Passing up to the bridge, she leant forward with her elbows on the rails, the wide lace on her sleeves falling back and disclosing shapely arms, and, with her chin in her hands, looked dreamily over the grey sea to a faint blur which marked the toiling sloop. She had not noticed him by so much as a glance, and, accepting this as a hint, he put the length of the bridge between him and her.
“Mr Hume.”
He turned, but she was still absorbed in watching the sloop.
“Must I call twice?” she said in her low, rich tones; and he was by her side.
“I feared I had offended you by my interference.”
“And would my displeasure disturb you?” she asked, reclining her head until she could look at him, and so keeping it.
Frank thought of Captain Pardoe, and wondered if she could be acting a part.
“Why do you look at me so? Tell me, what do you think of me?”
“I think you are very beautiful,” he said daringly, carried away by her beauty, and forgetting the part she had just played.
“Don’t. This is no ball-room interlude, and such a vapid compliment is out of place here. Be frank. Come, tell me.” She nestled her face more comfortably in her supporting palm, and looked at him with a faint smile that parted her lips.