Mr Frewen raised his cap, and walked forward, descending to the main-deck, and the invalid said something angrily to his sister which made her eyes fill with tears.
I was passing on, but Mr Denning made a sharp gesture.
“No, no, I want you,” he cried sharply.
“Then I’ll say good-morning,” said the captain, smiling at Miss Denning. “I only wanted to say I was glad to see you on deck, sir.”
“Thank you, captain; but don’t go. I can’t help being a bit irritable; I’ve had so much to do with doctors that I hate them.”
“John, dear!”
“Well, so I do, Lena. I was dying for want of some fresh air, and as soon as I get on deck, captain, down swoops the doctor as if he were a vulture and I was so much carrion.”
“Oh, come, come, my lad, you won’t talk like that when you’ve been on deck a bit. Nothing like fresh air, sir. Keep yourself warm, though, and we mustn’t have you wet.”
“Now, captain, don’t, pray,” cried the invalid.
“All right, then, I won’t. Look here, then. If it gets too rough, come into my cabin and have a cigar and a chat. You won’t mind a little smoke, my dear?”