"I confess," observed Mrs. Pellypop, slowly, "I do not think so."
Ronald was discreet, and surrendered.
"I dare say not," he observed hastily, "but you see one is so often deceived by a passing glance."
They wandered all over the city--went to the market and bought fruit, and were warned against eating it by an officious Maltese--saw the Armoury in the Grand Master's Palace--strolled round St. George's Square, and viewed with patriotic pride the flattering inscription to British Power over the Main Guard-House--sat in the carriage of the last Grand Master, and then went and had a light afternoon meal at a well-known hotel. It was now getting late, so, with a farewell glance at the Strada Reale and its queer crowd, they went down to the water-gate, where they found their boat waiting. A crowd of passengers was there, full of excitement about bargains made and experiences gained, and some guilelessly thought they had got the better of the Maltese shopmen, a thing quite impossible in this enlightened age.
They rowed to the steamer through the dark waters, with the lights of the city gleaming like stars in the distance, and the tall forms of ships looming like phantoms in the gloom. At last, after an adventurous journey, they arrived on board, and the first thing Ronald saw was Ventin leaning over the bulwarks watching fresh arrivals. As soon as Mrs. Pellypop and Kate, escorted by Pat, had gone below, Ronald went to Ventin.
"Have you been on board all day?" he asked.
Ventin shook his head.
"No; I changed my mind and went on shore shortly after you left."
"Did you see her?"
"I did."