“Ah, Bart!” she said, coldly, as she gazed full in his eyes till he dropped his own and moved toward the door.
“I’m just going to have a look at my boat, Abel, lad,” he said. “Coming down the shore?”
Abel nodded, and Bart shuffled out of the doorway, uttering a sigh of relief as soon as he was in the open air; and taking off his flat fur cap, he wiped the drops of perspiration from his brow.
“She’s too much for me, somehow,” he muttered, as he sauntered down towards the shore. “I allus thought as being in love with a gell would be very nice, but it ar’n’t. She’s too much for me.”
“What were you and Bart Wrigley talking about?” said Mary Dell, as soon as she was alone with her brother.
“You,” said Abel, going on scraping his netting-needle.
“What about me?”
“All sorts o’ things.”
“What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? Why, you know. About your being a fool—about the fine captain and his new sweetheart. Why, you might ha’ knowed, Mary.”