One evening Mr. McGowan returned to his study deeply perplexed. What was the meaning in the unjust persecution? Not that he complained; his difficulty was rather his inability to get at the bottom of it all. He stood before his window gazing absently out into the gathering dusk, when Captain Pott quietly opened the door and entered.
“Can I come in, Mack?”
“I’d love to have you. I need company.”
“Anything special wrong? I’ve been noticing you’re getting awful thin of late. Ain’t Eadie’s cooking agreeing with you?”
“I’m afraid that food cooked to the queen’s taste wouldn’t agree with me these days.”
“Ain’t in love, be you? I’ve heard tell how it affects people like that.”
The young man turned toward his friend. The wry smile with which he tried to divert the seaman did not hide the hurt expression in his eyes. The Captain caught the expression.
“Thought likely,” he observed, pulling at his moustache. “But that ain’t no reason for you losing sleep and flesh over, unless she ain’t in love with you.”
“There’s no reason why she should be.”