“No fear of that, Jack. I pride myself in being able to read character, and there is that in Mattie’s face and eyes that tells me she is a lady born.”
“That has not been denied, Peter.”
“No, but not only of gentle but unsullied birth.”
As he spoke there came again, I thought, that same strange dreamy look in Peter’s eyes; but I could not be sure, though the light from the companion fell full in his face.
He extended his hand, and I grasped it. It was as if we were signing a compact of some kind, I hardly knew what.
Then Jill and I went below.
Mrs Coates sat near the stove, which was burning brightly, in her little rocking chair, reading; her black maid sitting not far off sewing; in front of the fire a big pleasant-faced cat was singing a duet with the brightly burnished copper kettle, and the great lamp swung in its gymbals from a beam over head.
I could not help pausing in the doorway for a moment to admire the homelike cosiness of the scene. By and by down came Captain Coates.
“Jill, my lad,” he said, as he seated himself by the little piano, “trot on deck and relieve Peter a bit.”
When Peter came down he went at once for his clarionet, and we had very sweet music indeed.