The maiden lady appeared uncertain as to the possible compliment in this statement, but at last decided to accept it.
“You're the same old flatterer, Captain, the very same,” she gurgled.
Presently, the conversation dragged.
“Do you know why I came to see you today?” asked Miss Fitzpatrick, and, at Donald's negation, continued: “I thought you must be lonesome out here, particularly with everyone gone on the expedition, and—and—I came to tell you that I think your imprisonment is the most unjust thing I ever heard of.”
“Do you, really?” cried the young man, eagerly.
“I certainly do, and I spoke to father about it, severely. For a time, I thought I was going to get you off, but something seemed to occur to him, and he got angry, and said not to mention the subject again. But I thought I would tell you just what I think of it.”
“I can't thank you enough,” said Donald, approaching her impulsively, for the little woman's efforts in his behalf really touched him. “I didn't know I had a friend in the world until this minute, and I tell you I'm grateful—more so than you have any idea. You were more than good, and I sha'n't forget it.”
At his approach, Miss Fitzpatrick had pushed her chair back nervously several inches, and, now, Donald turned away to hide the smile that would struggle to his face, despite his efforts at suppression. To bridge the situation, he pulled his pipe from his pocket, and began to examine it intently.
“And that isn't all,” continued Miss Fitzpatrick, nerving herself for speech so that her curls quivered violently. “I want you to know that I will do anything in my power to make your confinement here easier, and will always have your interest at heart wherever you are... There!
“You are a dear little woman, and I'm overwhelmed with your kindness,” said Donald, in the deep, rich voice he unconsciously used when moved. And, at that, the scarlet tide of joy that had been hovering uncertainly in Miss Fitzpatrick mounted with a rush and suffused her pale little face.