“Then you do care for Beck?” he said in a sharp whisper.
“I—I don’t know,” she faltered.
“Well, you know that he cares for you?”
She gave him a piteous look.
“And you know, too, that he is going to speak to your father this morning?”
“O Neil, dear, he must not,” whispered the girl, in an agony of fear.
“But he must if he means to win you. I advised him to do so.”
Isabel caught hold of the cloth below the level of the table and glanced wildly at Beck, but he could not interpret the meaning of the look, and replied to it with one full of hope.
The little party rose from the table soon after and fate favoured the sailor by giving him the opportunity he sought—Mr Elthorne crossing the hall to the library, while the others went out on to the lawn.
“Eh! Want to speak to me, Beck?” said Mr Elthorne. “Come in here.”